Someone to Believe in
by Jgold7
Summary: What if Clark never came back from that fateful confrontation with Lex at the Fortress of Solitude? Chloe & Ollie deal with the fallout. Lex's pet-projects keep Tess busy. Isis gets a new caretaker. AU.PostS7.OCs.!NoClark.!LexKnows
1. Prologue

_**A/N 03-2011: There is a new Chapter One (2 . One) inserted; the original is now Chapter Two (3 . Two) so on and so forth; Prologue Remains the same**_

Disclaimer: DC content not mine. Not making $

Spoilers through Season 8. Alternate Universe. Set Post Season 7. Features some Original Characters. No Clark. Lex knows.

Cover Art: http : / /lyxanderblue .deviantart .com/gallery/#/d38wuyl

* * *

**SOMEONE TO BELIEVE IN**

"_You hold the future of the entire planet in your hands; I'm here to take it back. I loved you like a brother, Clark, but it has to end this way."_

_- Lex Luthor, on the day Clark Kent died.  
_

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

Golden afternoon sunlight streamed through the open bay windows. The silk window dressings waving gently in the breeze flittered translucent shadows and sunbeams like warm honey in a slow waltz about the cozy suite. The impeccably decorated corner apartment was on the third floor overlooking the quaint cobble stone intersection of Rue de l'Eau and Bouldevard Victoire.

In the central hallway that separated a formal sitting room from what might be a family or living room, stood a tall, young man in his early twenties. He had smiling, warm brown eyes, and a shag of blond hair that covered his ears and brow and was just beginning to threaten unruliness; his jaw was long and narrow and bore a hint of tawny stubble a shade darker than his coif. He was dressed in a grey, casual sports coat, a white button-up, dark denim, and black boots.

The young man wore a closed-lipped, bemused expression as his eyes searched the space with pleased curiosity and a pinch of hopefulness. The living room with its beige and taupe color scheme, chaise lounges, and white fireplace appeared empty, so he peeked into the office: recently used, but also empty. He _hmm_'ed to himself and pursed his lips as he thought.

_Click_

Growing up as he did, the sound was familiar. While he wasn't alarmed—he was so calm and unnerved in such situations that even his ever-so-cavalier father was put on edge by him—he did have a healthy reverence for what he had just unmistakably heard. Swiveling slowly and unthreateningly on his heel, his hands raising as he did, the young man found the business end of .454 Casull pointed at his face. He cleared his throat and quickly blinked twice, before uttering the most unassuming and disarming "Hi," he could manage.

The fiercely beautiful gaze of Lana Lang stared back at him over the barrel of the gun. Her hazel eyes warned him and demanded the reason for his intrusion. He was a little taken back by her beauty, even if she was dressed for business: hair pulled back, dark form fitting clothes. She was more stunning than he had ever seen her; he hadn't anticipated those little details.

"How did you get in here?" She demanded after another moment of studying him.

"I knew I'd find you here," he said with a smile. "You always loved Paris."

Her porcelain brow furrowed in confusion.

"Although, pulling a gun for an unarmed breaking and entering seems a little much." His tone was chatty, casual, and a bit playfully chastising. "Don't you think?"

"Who are you?" Lana demanded with gun still raised, not wavering despite his familiarity.

"Right," he said, remembering. He took a step towards her to explain but she reminded him of the gun quickly. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay, okay."

"Who are you?" Lana repeated more emphatically with less patience. He was beginning to think she might actually shoot him. She gestured with the barrel that he step away from the open door way of the office and forced him to back up towards the window at the end of the hall.

"Christopher," he said simply and sincerely, trying his best to convey his honesty. He motioned with his hands as he backed up in an attempt to calm her and enforce his nonhostility. "Although...you usually call me Chris. But_ you're_ the only one I let call me that."

"What is this?"

"Look," Christopher said in earnest with more haste and urgency, "We know each other...er...rather, we will. I...know you. You just haven't met me yet."

"Are you some kind of crazy stalker or did—"

"No!"

"—Lex send you?"

"Lex?" Christopher softly said, confused. "Luthor?"

"Do you work for Lex? Did he send you?"

Christopher shook his head slowly, his eyes dancing furtively as he thought intensely.

_Lex Luthor?_

"Lex Luthor is alive?" Christopher asked in quiet disbelief; his entire countenance had changed. "What would he want with you?"

Lana did not answer him, but only stared him down with intensity and distrust. He could tell she knew he wasn't a threat, but wasn't ready to stake anything on that judgment yet either.

"Is he alive?" he pressed in barely a whisper.

There was a long still pause, and then she nodded.

"And Clark?" the question still only a breath.

Lana's eyes narrowed and she tightened her grip on the gun. She looked like a caged animal ready to attack or flee.

"Clark," Christopher repeated, more forcefully. His was still whispering.

"I have nothing to say to you or anyone else about Clark," Lana growled, her eyes flashed. "You can tell Lex to go to hell."

"I don't work for Lex. Alright?" he replied in kind, his words even and restrained. "Now, tell me, please. Is Clark Kent alive?"

There was another long, tense pause.

"You answer a question and I'll answer one," Lana told him, regarding him with mixed curiosity and mistrust. "Who are you, Christopher?"

He bit his lip, his own patience waning now, and searched the wood grain of the floor for answers. He looked up at her again, the cocked gun still trained on his forehead.

"A friend," Christopher replied. "Clark?"

Lana seemed understandably unsatisfied with his answer, but her glower soon softened and she spoke in a rough, barely audible tone.

"No one's seen or heard from Clark in almost two years." Her voice caught and her eyes were moist. "The funeral was eighteen months ago, but anyone who knew him would know that."

"I'm too late..." Christopher whispered, then more loudly to her, "I should go."

"You should start talking. What's this about? Why are you here?"

_I have to get out of here. This is all wrong._

Christopher sighed heavily and feigned a look of conflict. Letting his raised hands fall to the side of his head, he looked up and scowled. He waited to see if his movements were going to make her pull the trigger; she was waiting for his reply. He covered his face with his hands and shook his head.

"Okay," Christopher said, his words muffled by his hands. His right hand remained on his mouth and jaw as his left hand moved back up in the air; he stared back at her with challenging eyes. "Okay, I'll talk."

Christopher let his right hand sink to his chest as naturally as possible, watching Lana for any sign that she had caught on to his ploy. His palm came to rest over the open collar of his shirt; he could feel the hard metal loop beneath the fabric.

"I'm waiting."

"Sorry," he said. "Another time. I promise."

Before she could respond, he slipped his hand into his shirt and his finger into the ring hidden on a chain there. With a burst of light, Christopher was gone.

* * *

_A/N: thanks for reading. Reviews welcome.  
_


	2. One

_**A/N 03-2011: This is a new Chapter One (2 . One); the original is now Chapter Two (3 . Two) so on and so forth**_

Disclaimer: DC content not mine. Not making $

Spoilers through Season 8. Alternate Universe. Set Post Season 7. Features some Original Characters. No Clark. Lex knows.

Cover Art: http : / /lyxanderblue .deviantart .com/gallery/#/d38wuyl

* * *

**SOMEONE TO BELIEVE IN**

"_You hold the future of the entire planet in your hands; I'm here to take it back. I loved you like a brother, Clark, but it has to end this way."_

_- Lex Luthor, on the day Clark Kent died.  
_

* * *

**ONE**

* * *

**DOWNTOWN METROPOLIS**

**.  
**

CHLOE: Any luck?

GQ: nope no sign of Clark

CHLOE: We will find him Ollie.

GQ: got a lead on LL need the ld on a locale

CHLOE: Can it wait 20 min? Stepped out 4 a refill. Gotta swing by the Planet. Lo is on my case about r missin boyscout.

GQ: kinda need info now

CHLOE: Like life or death now? Or playboy impatient now?

GQ: somewhere in between

CHLOE: Turning around now. Was almost to the Planet. This better be urgent.

GQ: thx Chlo  
.

Chloe Sullivan slipped her smartphone back into her purse and about-faced. It was a bright and pleasant fall Thursday morning, but the streets weren't too busy. She smelled coffee and hoped Oliver wasn't being an overly dramatic Queen. As she turned the corner away from the Daily Planet, Chloe heard a concussive _boom_ and felt the ground tremble beneath her feet.

"What in the world..." she muttered.

The sounds of chaos and disaster ensued.

Chloe absently thought about texting Clark, but then the suffocating hand of anxiety and sadness squeezed her heart when she remembered she couldn't. She took a breath, steeled herself, and sprinted back around the corner. The picturesque scene around the Daily Planet had changed drastically. There was smoke and auto debris covering the previously busy thoroughfare, now congested with dazed pedestrians and immobilized vehicles.

Then she saw the Metropolis city-bus on its side.  
.

* * *

.

**THE DAILY PLANET**

.

"Hey, Jeff," Lois Lane called to a passerby as her fingers tapped quickly on her keyboard. She wasn't actually typing, but rereading an article for the fourth time. "Is the new boss here yet? I want to make a good first impression before anyone else makes a bad one."

"No clue, Lane."

"Well, I don't wanna sit here at my desk all day waiting for her to grace us with her presence. Any idea when she's gonna show?"

"It's a slow news day. Chill."

"Chill?" Lois repeated. "Listen Hage, don't tell me to—"

_Boom._

The basement bull-pin shook, dust and loose drywall trickled to the floor like soft rain with a dull tinkling.

"So much for the slow news days."

Lois grabbed her things and was up the stairs in under a minute.

"Oliver," Chloe said sternly into her phone, "I'm sorry, but the yellow brick road to the emerald city is kinda blocked by a big flaming bus...no, I'm fine...No! If you can't make it through without my guidance then don't go in. Can you just give me a little longer? It's a mad house here right now...I'll saddle up in an hour; can you hold off until then?...Alright, stay safe out there."

Chloe tried to make it back towards the Daily Planet. The bus had lit up like a Roman candle less than a block from front doors of the newspaper; she wanted to make sure Lois was okay.

As she approached the city blockades, firefighters and rescue workers were already hard at work. Chloe saw a young girl moving towards them, disoriented and covered in soot. Her Goth clothes and purple streaked black hair were extremely disheveled. There were scorch marks on her bare shoulders.

_Oh my God! She must have been on the bus._

Chloe saw the girl sway and then collapse to the sidewalk; she was alone. Chloe broke from the crowd of onlookers and rushed to the girl's aid.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" Chloe asked the girl who was coughing desperately. Chloe gingerly steadied her and then immediately yelled, "Can somebody help us over here, please?"

A paramedic—tall, dark and handsome with a chiseled jaw and a determined expression—emerged from the smoke.

"Over here," Chloe called to him.

He waivered and paused when he saw her. An expression passed over his face that Chloe didn't understand; they shared a brief look. Then, he was on the move again, hurrying to them.

"Hi," Chloe said gratefully as he knelt down next to them. The girl continued to cough and gasp for breath. She was frightened and in shock.

"Was she on the bus?"

"I don't know."

"Can you do a—Hold on to this for me?" the paramedic told Chloe more than asked, handing her the bottle of oxygen. Then to the girl he asked, "What's your name?"

"Bette," she wheezed.

"You inhaled a lot of smoke Bette; we're gonna give you a little fresh air," he told Bette, and then slid the mask over her head. He was careful of the bleeding cut on her forehead. "Take slow deep breaths. Try to stay calm, okay? I'm gonna check you over, see if anything hurts."

Bette grabbed hold of Chloe's hand, which was gripping the top of the oxygen.

"Hang in there, Bette," Chloe whispered soothingly. Bette's eyes followed her fearfully as the paramedic examined the girl. "It's okay."

"You're doing great," the paramedic told Bette, then glanced at Chloe with a smirk and added, "you too."

"Thank God you heard me," she told him.

"You're hard to miss," the paramedic said casually yet still focused on Bette. The remark surprised her, but Chloe couldn't help be a little flattered.

"Apart from breathing in all that smoke, you're gonna be okay," he explained to Bette. "We should still get you to MetGen to be sure. Think you can make it to my rig?"

"Uh huh."

Chloe attentively supported Bette's weight as the paramedic slowly helped the girl to her feet.

"Can you grab my bag?" he asked, nodding to one of the red duffles he had brought with him.

"Yeah, of course."

"Thanks, uh?"

"Chloe."

"Davis."

"You make a good wingman, Chloe," he said kindly, beaming at her. He then blanched at his potential politically incorrect faux pas and hastily corrected himself, saying, "Wing-_person_. Thank you for your help."

She smiled and nodded, amused by his pleasantly unexpected behavior, and then followed them to an available ambulance.

"Hey! Hey, get back. It's gonna blow!"  
.

* * *

.

**BROADWAY STREET, OUTSIDE DAILY PLANET**

.  


Lois had her pad in one hand and her phone in the other as she texted fervently.  
.

LOIS: Olsen. Big break. Big Boom. Where are you?

JIMMY: Smallville. Looking for Chloe. Seen her?

LOIS: Not today. More concerned with exploding bus. Priorities man.

JIMMY: Save me some aftermath.  
.

Lois wondered how she was ever going to get ahead in this business without a reliable photographer. She'd settle for a decent partner. Though she'd never admit it, she thought Clark might have come through for her. He never even turned in that application she gave him.

"Whoa, hey! Watch yourself," someone called.

Lois felt strong hands gripping her arms from behind and pulling her. A piece of flaming awning tumbled to the ground, landing at her feet.

"You can let go now," she said.

"You're welcome."

Lois spun around, side stepping the flaming metal shard. A tall man with dark hair and dark eyes was smiling back at her. His red button up shirt, tight over his large shoulders, was smeared with ash. He sported a groomed beard, about a week's growth, and a small faux hawk, but those too, as well as his tanned skin, were mussed with soot.

"Yeah, thanks. Whatever," Lois said and shrugged.

"Hey, you're Lois Lane, right?" he said. "You work for the Inquisitor? Lots of big alien and scandal tabloid stories."

"I think your sources are a little off, buster," she refuted, a sharp laugh masking her offense.

"Yeah, that's great. Nice to meet ya, Lois," he said distractedly, skirting around her quickly and heading for the street, "Excuse me."

Lois spun around again and watched him jog towards the bus. There was some commotion going on around it. The workers seemed to be upset and tense, like something was wrong. The way the man interacted with them, familiar but authoritative, she guessed him to be a cop.

_Maybe a little damsel in distress eavesdropping will get me some leads,_ she smiled to herself and moved into the street.

"Hey! Hey, get back. It's gonna blow!" her cop yelled, waving her away.

.

* * *

.

"Chloe," Davis said urgently to her, "Stay here with Bette. I'll be right back."

"Hey, what are you doing? It's not safe."

"There are still people in there! Stay with Bette."

Chloe reached out as he took off, but he was gone. She looked back and saw someone else tending to Bette.

"You'll be okay here," Chloe assured her, "I'll be back in sec."

Bette reached for her hand again. Chloe squeezed it and tried to let go, but Bette wasn't having it. Chloe nodded to her and patted her hand, sitting down on the Ambulance tailgate. Leaning, she could just barely see Davis arriving at the bus. A kid with a skateboard brushed passed him hurriedly.

_Clark, we could really use you right about now._

Davis arrived at an arguing mixed group. He could tell someone had messed up and protocol wasn't being followed, but he knew there were people still trapped inside. After listening for a moment, he sidestepped them rather than join the fray. Moving quickly, he scanned the side, or rather the roof, of the bus for a way in. Moving to the back, he saw the large rear window was cracked but still in place. He felt someone at his side.

"You need a hand?" It was one of the men from the arguing group. He had on a red shirt.

"Probably," Davis said absently, still focused on the bus.

Redshirt walked up to the window, turned his back to it, and, with his elbow, slammed into the glass. The window cracked further, but did not shatter.

"Ow. That didn't work like I planned."

"Smooth," Davis commented dryly, "Yeah, that's not gonna work. That stuff is tempered. Windshield glass shatters instead of cracking, but it takes a lot force to get it there."

"How about this?" Red shirt asked, picking up a stout fallen branch that resembled a baseball bat.

Davis nodded appreciatively and found a similar one. A swing a piece and another one equally timed brought the glass tinkling down. Smoke poured out and there was commotion. They helped five or six people—Davis had trouble keeping track—climb out. They took off before he could ask if anyone else was inside. Davis and Redshirt were suddenly shoulder to shoulder trying to climb in.

"Hey man, appreciate the help but," Davis said, pointing to the emblem on his jacket, "I got this. Why don't you wait here, and anyone I find I'll hand out to you."

"Yeah, you're an EMT. All the more reason for you to stay safe out here and treat anyone I haul out."

They struggled shoulder to shoulder before they both ended up climbing in. Davis managed to land in front of Redshirt. The smoke was thick and he immediately knelt down. He couldn't believe the state of the inside of the bus. It must have been a bomb. They helped several more conscious people out. The first unconscious person he came to was a red-haired business woman. She still had a pulse, good breath sounds, and no sign of head or spinal trauma.

"Help me get her out of here," Davis said to Redshirt.

Redshirt tried to respond but coughed and then nodded. Davis scooped her up and they shuffled her back and forth, trying to get her safely out the window. Redshirt ended climbing out and Davis handed her to him. He climbed out after him to check her vitals. Davis landed in front of Redshirt, the redhead cradled between them in Redshirt's arms. Her eyes fluttered open unexpectedly. She looked up first at Redshirt and then to Davis.

"Guess this must be my stop."

They both grinned at her.

"Hey! What are you guys doing? Are you crazy?" A police woman rounded the bus and ushered them away.

"There are still people in there," he said, stopping to argue with her.

"We know that. But it's not safe to go in there until the squad has locked things down."

"Every second we waste people could be dying in there. We have to get those—"

Davis never heard the explosion; he only felt the impact of something hard and sharp to the back of his head, and then blackness.  
.

* * *

.

**METROPOLIS GENERAL HOSPITAL**  
.

"Looks like my guy one up'd your guy for the save," Lois quipped once they'd finished trading stories. "And I've got a story."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Chloe said, standing up from the ER exam bed to stretch, "Davis gets the Purple Heart for being wounded in the line of duty. And he's not _my guy. _Jimmy's my guy."

"Olsen, right. Jimmy's a good guy, Chlo. Only the best for my baby coz."

Chloe smiled and closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead.

"Speaking of which, Lo," Chloe said, "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Lois gave her an apprehensive ,confused look, "Alright, shoot."

"Well, Jimmy...he sort of...proposed."

Silence.

Chloe waited.

"Olsen? Jimmy Olsen? Popped the big 'Q'? Wow, didn't know he had it in him."

"Yeah."

"Well, hey!" Lois said, standing up and wrapping Chloe in a hug, "Congratulations."

"Um, well, Lo. You might wanna hold off with the nuptial celebrations there."

"You turned him down?" Lois asked, surprised, pulling out of the hug. "Poor guy's probably heart broken. You just weren't feeling it?"

"No," Chloe said slowly, "I...I didn't say 'no.'"

"So you're having second thoughts? It's a little early for cold feet."

"I didn't say 'no' and I didn't _not_ say 'no,'" Chloe drawled out, she walked away from the bed and let out a big sigh. She then turned back to Lois, "I didn't answer. I didn't say anything."

Lois stared at her incredulously.

"It's all a little complicated. I mean he asked and it was all perfect and romantic and my heart was all a flutter. And that's when Lex dropped the dime on me and I was whisked away to big sky country."

"Right in the middle of his down on one knee routine? Talk about bad timing...So, now the question's just hanging up there over your heads not being talked about or what?"

"We talked about, alright." Chloe said, "Once."

"Didn't go so well?"

"Didn't go."

The doctor returned to report everything checked out fine for Lois and was quickly examining Chloe. Lois's phone buzzed while the doctor was speaking to Chloe. Lois peaked over his shoulder while covering the receiver.

"Sorry, Chlo'," Lois said, "I gotta go. Meeting the new boss today. We'll talk later. Promise."

Chloe nodded. She was grateful Lois had to run. She didn't feel like discussing Jimmy's preempted proposal. The Doctor finished and was about to leave.

"I was wondering if you could give me an update on the young girl that came in with me," Chloe asked. "Her name is Bette. That's the only name I have for her."

Chloe then described her but the doctor didn't know anything. Chloe thanked him and was heading for the waiting room when Davis entered the ER.

"Davis!"

"Hey, Chloe. You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. What about you?" Chloe asked with concern and a bit of confusion. "I thought you were hurt in the explosion."

"Uh," Davis paused. "No. No, I'm fine. Just knocked out by the blast, I guess. I checked out okay."

"That's pretty amazing."

Davis shrugged, rubbing his arm and looking away.

"Well," Chloe said, breaking the awkward silence. "I'm glad you're okay. Have you heard anything about Bette?"

"No, nothing. We could try to find out, though. Ask at the nurse's station."

Chloe smiled and nodded. She followed his lead since it was his turf and waited for him to finish talking. Her phone vibrated in her purse. The caller ID read GQ.

_Oliver._

"No news," Davis said, "We'll have to keep asking."

"I...uh...I need to go," Chloe said, holding up her phone, "Something came up. Could you let me know if you find out anything?"

"Sure, no problem," he said, "Except, I don't have your number, Chloe. Or a last name. Or anyway to get in touch with you or keep you from walking out of my life forever the second you disappear through those doors."

Chloe looked down and fought a smile as she dug in her purse for a pen. She settled for an _Isis Foundation _business card.

"This'll have to do," Chloe told him, handing him the card, "It was nice meeting you, Davis."

She hurried away before he could respond and was on her phone.

"Oliver, I'm _so _sorry."  
.

* * *

.

**DAILY PLANET**  
.

Lois was reading over the reports from the accident when she heard the chair at the empty desk across from her squeaking. She looked up to see the red shirted cop, who had changed into a brown blazer. Instead of ash, a self-satisfied grin was smeared across his face.

"That was a nice save out there; might get a good story out of it. But there are laws about stalking people," Lois told him, returning her attention to her screen, "you should know."

"Hmm. I'm not a cop."

"Detective, whatever. You guys are so touchy."

"I don't work for the force," he replied coolly. "You jumped to that conclusion yourself, which I hear you do. A lot."

Lois smiled mirthlessly at him, perturbed.

"Who the hell are you then?" she inquired restrainedly.

"Heh, I'm a field reporter. Spent the last few years in Afghanistan. Hope it gave me enough training to be your desk mate."

"Don't bet on it. And don't' get comfortable in that chair. It's already taken."

"Whoever it was dropped out, didn't follow up or whatever. It's mine now."

Lois frowned.

He got up and came around the desk, offering his hand.

"The name's Van."

"As in mini?" Lois scoffed.

"As in Vandal. Like a juvenile delinquent," he corrected. "And don't bother with the clever jokes, I've heard them all."

"I doubt that," Lois muttered, then remarked. "Whoever named you is just cruel. You're lucky we don't use a lot of first names around here. You gotta last name?"

"Vanderbilt. Vandal Vanderbilt." Lois stared. Then blinked twice. "Van it is," she conceded with an eye roll.

"Like I said."

"Boss wants to see you."

It was Jeff Hage.

"Alright, Van. Wish me luck." Lois said, rising from her chair.

"Not you, Lane," Jeff stopped her with a hand, and then pointed to the new guy. "Him."

Smug, he beamed devilishly at her. She glowered.

"See you in the trenches, Lois," Van said with a small two finger salute as he followed Hage. "Lead the way, Jeff."

"Okay..."  
.

* * *

.

**DAILY PLANET, EDITORs OFFICE**

.

A blond assistant let Van into the lavish art-decco office that once belonged—and still did—to Lex Luthor. His new boss was facing away from him, starring out the window.

"Have a seat Mr. Vanderbilt," she told him.

Van decided to comply and walked towards the cozy leather chairs. She came around to greet him and shake his hand. The face of his new boss was one and the same of the woman he and that cocky paramedic had rescued earlier that day.

"Tess Mercer, acting CEO of Luthor Corp," she said with a pleasant tone and expression.

"You're my boss?" Van asked; his tone was heavy with incredulity.

"You weren't this shy when I was the damsel in distress," Tess replied coolly. "Don't tell me you're intimidated by a powerful woman?"

"No," he replied with a laugh, "Just wouldn't expect you to be back at work so soon."

"Well, I have big shoes to fill, and the paramedic said I was fine."

"I'm glad to hear it." Van told her, and then added, "You take the bus often, Ms. new CEO of LuthorCorp. Did you not inherit the Luthor salary?"

"I'm going green," she said, leaning in as if whispering a secret, "You know, doing what I can to save the planet. For the sake of the shareholders, let's keep that between ourselves. Hmm?"

Van nodded his agreement even if he didn't buy it.

"Seems we were destined to meet?" Tess continued. "I already had you on my 'to do' list today."

Van guffawed. He wasn't much for subtleties.

"Lex told me all about you."

"Really?" Van said skeptically. "I find that hard to believe. There isn't much to tell, promise. What did _Lex_ have to say?"

"Hmm. Well, most of it was written reports from before and during your time at the foreign desk. Several _heroic _incidents overseas. Sounds like you like to make the news as much as report it. He said you had a thing for saving people. After this morning, I'd say that's true."

"What can I say? I like action."

"Hmm," Tess hummed, as if musing, though she was all but dripping with sarcastic skepticism. "Ever since Lex's disappearance, I have used all of LuthorCorp's resources to find him."

Tess shifted gears so fast, Van had proverbial whiplash. Although, he wasn't as caught off guard as she might have expected. It was clearly a tactic of hers to ferret out information. What it was she thought he might know, Van wasn't sure.

"I'd imagine that'd be your first priority as interim head of the company," Van stated. Then asked more genially, "Do you have any leads?

"The world's a big place? Since you're just getting back from the other side of it. I was hoping you could tell me where to look, if you'd heard anything."

Van shook his head and shrugged.

"Fair enough. But if you do think of something, please give me a call."

"Is that all?"

Her head barely inclined to indicate he could leave. Van didn't waste any time vacating her office; he passed the blonde assistant again. Kat, he thought her name was. He paused at the door and listened a moment.

"Handsome," Kat was saying.

_She wishes._

"And a liar," Tess added acerbically.

"I'll have someone keep an eye on him."

"No," Tess declined. "I'll watch this one personally."  
.

* * *

.

**ISIS FOUNDATION**

Chloe stood on the table in the backroom at _Isis_ trying to change a light bulb in the massively ornate fixture. Even in heels, she just couldn't reach.

"You know, if you just reach a little bit higher, you're definitely gonna need an ambulance." It was Davis.

"Well, I'm lucky there's a paramedic in the building."

"Ha, ha," he replied, climbing up on the table. "I wanted to give an update on Bette, but you didn't answer the phone and I was in the neighborhood so I thought I'd drop by. Ahem, gimme."

Chloe felt him behind her as he took the bulb and twisted it into place. She turned around and found herself face to face with him. The proximity was unexpected and startling. She was close enough to smell him and look into his eyes. She had seen looks like that before, like when Clark stared at Lana. She dismissed it. She thought she must be imagining it. She found herself scrounging for thoughts, which felt odd, and finally broke the trance with a "That's great."

He helped her down from the table.

"Thank you."

He nodded and looked around the room.

"Isis Foundation," he remarked. "So, what? Adopt a pyramid, save a sphinx? That kinda thing?"

"Heh, cute," Chloe said, and then struggled with how to tactfully and vaguely explain it away. She thought about the Watchtower setup hidden just a few feet away and about the multiple active search protocols running simultaneously scanning the globe for Clark. A wave of urgent worry crashed over her. Instead she said, "Uh, actually, it's more like a counseling center. I'm housesitting for a friend until she finds someone to take it over."

"I'm surprised I haven't heard of it. The hospital sends out updates on all the mental health facilities." Davis replied.

"Well," Chloe drawled, dogging the issue poorly. "She has very specific clients. People with, uh, special skills that are sometimes a little dangerous."

"You mean like meteor types?"

Chloe did a double take. Had she heard him correctly?

"I drive an ambulance in Metropolis, Chloe. I've seen a lot of things. At least enough to know that they could use the help. Have you ever thought about helping them?

"No, I don't—"

"I saw you with Bette today," he cut her off, "You cared enough to take her under your wing. That's rare. And think how hard it must be for meteor people to find someone they can trust."

Chloe shrugged. She picked up the vase of old flowers from the table and removed the dead blooms, tossing them into the waste bin. "So, how is Bette?"

"Well," Davis drawled, obvious wanted to delay his answer. That grabbed her attention and curiosity. "She didn't make it."

"What?" Chloe breathed in disbelief.

"Yeah...Poor kid. Looks like she was a street brat or a runaway. No records on her and I was the first to inquire about her."

"Gosh." Chloe was a stunned.

"I'm sorry. I'm a little more used to this whole 'you can't save everyone routine.' This must be rough on you."

"But she was fine. You said so yourself," Chloe protested.

"She was. I mean, she checked out fine: just a little smoke inhalation," Davis continued, "It happens, though. Shock hides things. Sometimes trauma victims have underlying problems that we don't catch at the scene; that's why a lot of them get taken to the ER for a workup. I'm not a doctor...and we can _miss_ things in the field."

"What kind of things?" Chloe queried, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm not really allowed to say, Chloe."

"Oh come on, Davis. You weren't her doctor, like you said. So that whole doctor-patient-confidentiality thing doesn't really apply here, does it?"

"Chloe...I—" Davis stammered, "Alright, you're not really streetwise, so I'm betting you didn't notice the track marks."

Chloe cocked her head. She was a little offended by the remark.

_You have no idea the wits I have about me. _No one did. No one knew about her new gifts. Her mind was concocting complex algorithms to plug into her next search with ease while having a conversation completely undistracted. Though not as undistracted as expected. There was something about Davis that drew more of her attention than she intended.

"She was kind of covered in ash, Davis."

"Alright," Davis said. "Granted, I didn't see them until tonight at the hospital, but with a kid like that, it's not uncommon."

"Isn't that kinda stereotyping?"

"Maybe if she hadn't been an addict, but she overdosed on Heroine," Davis said solemnly. "They found needles and stuff on her. She used in the hospital and it didn't mix well with her other meds."

"That's terrible. Poor girl."

"See, that's what I'm talking about, Chloe," Davis said exuberantly, "you really cared about this girl that you didn't even know. I think you could really help these people."

"But am I streetwise enough?"

"Okay. Forget about that," he conceded, "I can come off a little strong."

"That's okay. At least now I understand where it comes from," she said.

"Understand how?"

Now Chloe was slightly embarrassed and wished she'd kept her mouth shut.

"Well, I googled you," she admitted, busying herself with the filing of some stray paperwork. "I read an interview you gave about running away from foster homes as a kid."

"You researched me?" Davis asked in disbelief, chuckling. "Well, I always kind of wanted my own stalker."

"Ha, ha. It isn't like that, Davis. It's just that—No, really. I used to be a reporter and so I have a serious curiosity complex."

"Okay. Yeah," Davis retorted affably, yet completely unconvinced.

"And I'm engaged," she blurted. She watched his entire demeanor change; she definitely wasn't imagined things. With less zeal, she added, "Or, rather I'm seeing someone."

"Well, which is it?"

Chloe fished the silly blue vending machine ring out of her pocket and idly toyed with it. How could she say yes to Jimmy when Clark was missing? She was wasting precious time at that very moment, yet she couldn't bring herself to rush him away.

"He asked...and I haven't accepted yet. I'm going to. When the time's right."

_Why am I telling him this?_

"Well, um—Congratulations," he said, obviously putting on a face. "That's a very unique engagement ring."

"Uh, well it's the story behind the ring that really makes it special," she said. "I went away for a while, and he never gave up on me."

"Well, Chloe, I grew up hearing a lot of four letter words and love wasn't exactly one of them. If you found it, real love, hold on to it." Davis was in complete earnest and she couldn't help but be moved and find it a little endearing. He laughed at his own sentiments despite the sincerity. "And if anyone tells you that's a cliché, I'll personally kick their ass."

The both chuckled.

"Well, I should go..." he said slowly.

"Thanks, Davis, for stopping by." Chloe said sweetly, walking him out.

Davis walked towards the door, but then stopped and turned around.

"Chloe," he called softly to her, his voice warm but hesitant.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna regret it if I walk out of here and don't say anything, so, would it be too forward of me to say that if you decide not to accept this guy's proposal, to call me?"

Chloe looked down and smiled.

"Goodnight, Davis."

Chloe shook her head and chuckled to herself when he left, locking the door behind him; this Davis had come out of nowhere. She returned to the backroom and saw she had one new text message. She hoped it was Oliver with good news.

JIMMY: Been looking for you all day. Busy tonight?

Chloe sighed and started to reply, but stopped. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, then typed a reply.

CHLOE: Sorry. Lotta Isis paperwork. Rain check?

She didn't wait for a response, but flung open the double doors concealing the elaborate and high-tech system. Each large screen displayed the words "No results found" in large white on black letters. Chloe sighed again and settled in, starting from scratch.

_Clark, where are you?_

* * *

_A/N: thanks for reading. Reviews welcome. I decided to twist in pieces of the show throughout and let the changes slowly unfurl.  
Yes, Van fulfilled some of Clark's roll here. That was intentional. He's also an intentional mash up, in a way, of Season Eight's Sebastian Cane and Season Nine's John Corban.  
_


	3. Two

_**A/N 03-2011: There is a new Chapter One (); this is the original, now Chapter Two (), and so on and so forth**_

Disclaimer: DC content not mine. Not making $

Spoilers through Season 8. Alternate Universe. Set Post Season 7. Features some Original Characters. No Clark. Lex knows.

Cover Art: http : / /lyxanderblue .deviantart .com/gallery/#/d38wuyl

* * *

**SOMEONE TO BELIEVE IN**

"_You hold the future of the entire planet in your hands; I'm here to take it back. I loved you like a brother, Clark, but it has to end this way."_

_- Lex Luthor, on the day Clark Kent died.  
_

* * *

**TWO**

* * *

.

**THE ARCTIC**

.

The icy artic wind whipped without relent. It churned the coarse, shaved ice, which had once been powdery snow, in the air in wild patterns. Though it had not snowed in some time and the thin polar skies were oddly clear, the flurries on the powerful gusts dazzled the eyes. The expanse of white on white on white domed in slate that was sometimes white was daunting. Up easily became confused with down.

Even in expensive custom gear, the cold was biting. Oliver Queen had been riding for hours, pushing his snow cat to the limit, and he was chilled to his core, though he barely noticed it. The machine, custom built by his own Queen Industries and further enhanced by his own discretionary masked activities fund, was designed specifically for its current task: search and rescue. But even it couldn't seem to keep up with Oliver's maddening pace.

He wore a modified version of his Green Arrow outfit, meant specifically for cold weather excursions. Even he wasn't foolish enough to go sleeveless in the arctic, fashion be damned. Oliver made a mental note that snowmobiling around the North Pole and cold weather excursions were two entirely different things. Next time, he'd be more prepared with a whole line of arctic gear.

Oliver was in costume because whatever it was that had happened up there in the frozen north to cause Clark Kent's ice castle to disappear, and him along with it, was serious business. His satellites were scouring the area but had come up with nothing thus far. Plus, with LuthorCorp already staking its claim to the area, he couldn't be too careful. What their angle was in the whole mess, Oliver wasn't sure, but ever since a bruised, battered, and broken Lex Luthor spouting nonsensical gibberish had briefly turned up in a Swedish ICU before falling off Oliver's radar again, he knew there was more at play.

Oliver and his team, Dinah Lance aka the Black Canary and Arthur "AC" Curry aka Aquaman, had been searching the artic for Clark without much luck. Their unexpected encounter with Tess "Mercy" Mercer, acting CEO of LuthorCorp and all its subsidiaries, had really thrown Oliver for a loop. She was the last person he expected to see at the helm of the Luthor Empire and its search for its missing king of the trust fund kids. Oliver's fling with Mercy, albeit short-lived and ancient history, had been memorable; he'd felt an unmistakable twinge as he watched her brazenly strut into the tent in her black, curvaceous outfit with smoldering red curls swirling about her in the frigid air. That was before his team stormed the place.

The warm, fuzzy, nostalgic feeling was fleeting and passed like a bout of indigestion with the discovery of Clark's signature red jacket at the bottom a hole bored into the ice twenty feet deep. It was the first time Oliver felt any inkling of doubt that Clark was anything but just missing. Those doubts lingered more frequently now.

As Oliver cruised over the snow banks towards a spot his satellites had pinpointed, he remembered the first time anyone even suggested giving up on Clark. It was only a month after his friend's disappearance.

.

_"I ran his photo through every surveillance camera north of six degrees latitude," Dinah spouted quickly with an exasperated sigh, as she worked fervently and futilely at the Watchtower computer hidden at the Isis Foundation; they had regrouped to report in. "Face Recognition hasn't come up with a single hit."_

_"Every dock or coastline east of the Siberian Sea to the Baffin Bay: they're Clark Kent-free zones," AC chimed in. "It's like he just disappeared."_

_"Well, that leaves us with Chloe's hard drive, which is full of fun facts, but not one lead on Clark," Oliver replied with annoyance. He was frustrated—frustrated they couldn't find Clark, frustrated with himself, and frustrated with the others because he could sense them giving up._

_"Oliver," Dinah said softly and more gently, standing up from the computer. He knew that tone. It was the one she used to reason with someone who was being unreasonable. "We've searched practically everywhere. I think it's time to accept the fact that maybe something happened to him."_

_AC nodded in agreement dejectedly._

_"No," Oliver refuted, not willing to even consider accepting it. "No, you don't understand. Clark's not like us. It's gonna take a helluva lot more than a little snow and ice to bring him down."_

_"Victor and Bart have been covering the entire southern hemisphere, and they couldn't find him. What makes you think we will?" Dinah countered, though she didn't match Oliver's force._

_"Clark would never give up on us," Oliver insisted, "We're not giving up on him."_

.

Oliver refused to give up, but as they slipped through the second month—or was it the third?—he felt the others already had. That red jacket had been their only tangible lead. There was no other sign of Clark at the ice cap except for an image of a boot print Oliver snagged a copy of from one of Mercy's goons a few days later. That was before she took his team hostage.

Mercy turned out to be more of a merciless femme fatale in line with the Luthor dynasty than expected. She couldn't have been traced to have a direct hand in it, as one of Lex's lackeys of the month had done most of the on-scene dirty work via Project Black Creek Mountain. AC and Dinah were caught off guard on the same night, but when they came for Oliver the next morning he managed to see them coming.

It was pure luck. He was a block from his penthouse trying out a new scanning device he had rigged for use in the arctic to look for heat signatures and weak signals. It had fuzzed out on him and he was running a diagnostic; he was in over his head there. Whatever they were using to track his phone tripped a sensor on the scanner and the thing went wild. When he saw three dots closing in on him, Oliver ditched his phone and the screeching scanner—one crushed under his boot and into a homeless burn barrel and the other down a storm drain—before he hightailed it out of there and into the safety of the large crowd at the Ace of Clubs.

It was several more days before Oliver figured out that Dinah and AC were missing and discovered where they were being held: Black Creek Mountain. It was a three-for-the-price-of-two bonus when he learned that Chloe Sullivan was also being held there. All that time his lawyers had been battling with the DDS about Chloe's hacking charges for nothing. Lois Lane, Chloe's cousin, managed to sneak in, looking for Chloe, and got herself tangled up in the mess a day or so before Oliver showed up. The jailbreak went from two to four with only the slightest of snafus, namely Oliver being injected with mind-control serum that wore off when Lois cracked him over the head.

Their search for Clark continued, but with Chloe's skills added to the mix and no leads of any kind, discouragement prevailed. With both Dinah's and AC's covers blown, it was even harder for them operate while staying incognito and on the lam from LuthorCorp. It was two weeks after Black Creek that word of Lex being alive first surfaced, and despite Oliver's disappointment in that, it gave them hope. If Lex survived, then surely Clark did. They kept looking.

Oliver mused that with Lex confirmed alive, Mercy's reign on the Luthor throne would be brief. Caesar was going back to Rome, so Oliver expected to see the troops pull out too: no such luck. When Lex was still MIA, Mercy had a legitimate reason for setting up camp on the North Pole.

_But now..._

He couldn't see their angle. Was Lex looking for Clark too? Was this some kind of misguided attempt at reconciliation on his part? Did they know about the Fortress and were looking for it too? There were even worse possibilities still that he didn't want to think about just yet. Whatever LuthorCorp was up to, he knew there were a few more twisted puzzle pieces that weren't on the table; he didn't think he was going to like the whole picture when he finally saw it.

It was a race now. Him against Lex. Lex was at a disadvantage because he had gone underground and was presumably bed bound, but he had Mercy. Oliver was at a disadvantage because, other than Clark who was his main focus, he didn't even know what he was looking for. Furthermore, Oliver had never been able to pick up the Fortress on a satellite anyway so when it went missing, there was no record of when it happened. He wasn't entirely convinced the Fortress of Solitude was gone anyway. Clark would have the answers.

_If I could just find him..._

Oliver was beleaguered and haggard; his scruffy chin was chaffing in the snow mask under his helmet. The rest of his team had packed it in hours earlier unable to match his voracious fervor. He'd slept four hours out of the last forty eight, and not much more than that in the last week. Oliver's faith in Clark's invincibility was waning. Clark's ability to survive was proportionate to his ability to be found. Baring something as outlandish and unlikely as amnesia, though at that point they weren't ruling anything out, if Clark couldn't make himself found or get home by his own means then it was unlikely he could protect himself from harm or survive extremes.

As Oliver neared the coordinates, he banked a hard right, revved the engine, and opened the throttle, a wake of snow billowing behind him. He traversed a steep embankment at a treacherous angle; gravity pulled at him dangerously. Snow began to fall away more quickly below him. He was standing up now, pulling the behemoth of a snow mobile to stay up right with his body weight.

Oliver's left leg was extended as far as it would go, the toe of his boot barely touching the sideboard. The weight of snow cat against that leg was incredible, and extremely taxing. Oliver felt like all the weight was balanced on the inside of his left ankle. His brow sweated profusely inside his helmet despite the cold and he laughed nervously. Another one of his inappropriate responses to serious situations.

His right leg was bent so that it was almost a crouch; his right shoulder almost skimming the side of the snowing embankment. Occasionally it did dip in, jarring him radically and probably bruising that shoulder. It was a precarious dance as he pulled with his arms and legs, his abs straining painfully, to keep the snow cat on balance and drive it up the side of the snowy cliff to his destination. He was almost there.

_Crack!_

"Son of..."

The snow cat jerked, and Oliver lurched forward. He gasped as the handle bar knocked the air out of him and most likely bruised some ribs. Daring a glance behind, he saw that he'd hit a large rock, an outcropping. The belly of his snow cat had cleared off the light snow covering it. Regaining his composure and resisting the urge to grip his screaming side, Oliver retook control of the snow cat. It was still going forward, though he'd lost speed and altitude. The nose was no longer pointed at a forty-five degree angle to edge of the embankment. He was now running parallel to it and was in extreme danger of flipping over into a roll which would end only one way.

Willing every ounce of strength from his muscles, Oliver fought to get himself back on course, but it was losing battle. He saw that his right ski was crack and tip had snapped off; he had nothing to pull himself up hill with now. He was running out of time and strength as the end of the embankment approached.

It was so close.

_If I could just..._

Oliver saw his chance and went for it. Swinging his left leg around so it was on the right side, he was poised facing the slope. He let go of the handles and pushed off the side of the snow cat with his feet, launching himself in the air up hill. He drew his miniature collapsible crossbow from his side holster in record time and fired it. He waited infinitely long milliseconds for the recoil from the grappling hook as it took hold in the rock face of the cliff.

_Oomph!_

Oliver bounced once, front first, against the snowy slope before the crossbow began reeling him in reverse. He whizzed through the air, skimming above the snow, and popped up over the ledge; he landed on his feet in a graceful if not precarious feat of acrobatics. Releasing the grappling hook, Oliver watched as the snow cat plummet down the embankment in a rolling cloud of white.

"Not bad for a playboy from the city," Oliver said smugly, pleased with himself, brushing his hands off. The five minutes it took to investigate the small plateau, outcropping, and cave lined with minerals that were blocking his satellites' prying sensors proved fruitless.

"Clark!" Oliver called out over the frigid gales that were sweeping across the crest. "Clark! Come on, man. I don't have all year. Clark!"

Oliver pulled off his helmet and face mask, and pushed back his hood, his sweaty blond hair a matted mess. He dragged his gloved hands over his chapped face and then growled Clark's name again before yelling, "Where the hell are you, Clark!"

He threw up his hands in exasperation and defeat.

"Chloe," Oliver said, touching his headset. "Nothing here but penguins and polar bears."

"Alright, Ollie," Chloe's voice crackled over his headset, "It's time to get your green pleather-clad behind out the icebox and in front of fire. No more Kryptonian hunting for today."

"Sounds good to me. My green's turning blue. Better send the chopper; don't think I can make it down from this perch without wings."

"You sure there's no way down? The snow cat won't fit in the helicopter, unless you plan on strapping it to the bottom." Chloe reminded him.

"Won't be bringing the snow cat with," Oliver said, gritting his teeth, hoping she wouldn't ask.

"Why not?"

"Cause it's at the bottom of a cliff," Oliver replied with a grimace, cringing instinctually to her expected response.

"Another one! That's the forth one this...hey, I'm detecting some pretty heavy avalanche activity nearby, you alright? Everything look clear?"

"You should be. I caused it," he said peering over the edge as the snow poured down the slope. Except for the top of the cave, he was as high up as he could be. "Yeah, I'm good. It's clear. Send the whirly bird, Chlo'. I'm freezing out here."

"Well, it is the Arctic, Ollie," came Chloe's response. "It's on its way...ETA...nine minutes."

"Thanks, Chloe. See ya soon."

"Think warm."

"Right."

"Oh, and Ollie?"

"Yeah?"

"Penguins are in the _Ant_aractic, Oliver. At the South Pole."

Oliver rolled his eyes and put his gear back on. He rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet for warmth. Just standing still, he suddenly felt his fatigue and the cold.

And the weariness. He was dead tired, and not just his body. Oliver had devoted all of his time, energy, and effort to one singular task in the last few months. With no progress and not so much as a hint of Clark's whereabouts, it was exhausting. Even if they found remains it would be something, it would be an answer.

As much as he didn't want to make the call to Senator Kent to say he'd found her son's body or he'd given up the search, there was something he dreaded more: Chloe. Oliver knew that he'd be the one to give up first if it came to that; he'd always known it. As often as Chloe was the voice of reason and the one who talked people down from ledges, there was never any reasoning with her when it came to her devotion to Clark. Even if they stopped, she would never stop. Oliver was just a man, but Clark was larger than life, something to believe in. He was what she believed in. She would never stop.

As tired as Oliver was, he wasn't ready to give up on his friend yet. And he wasn't ready to face Chloe yet. So they continued to search. He had employed all the manpower and resources at his fingertips, and, with as much discretion as they could afford—which was a sizeable amount given his eleven figure bottom line—his company and his team were combing the globe for one Clark Kent. .

.

* * *

.

**ZURICH, SWITZERLAND  
**.

Tess Mercer tugged at the hem of her skirt and straightened the matching jacket as she cleared the helicopter's torrents of wind. It wasn't as cold in Zurich this time of year as she expected. She clutched tightly to a briefcase and was flanked by an escort of brawny security. Her nerves were concealed within the iron exterior of confidence and power she projected.

"Vandal Vanderbilt wants to know if you've approved his story on the city transportation department's safety fraud," her executive assistance, Kat, announced at little too loudly.

"I'm not really concerned with the overactive imagination of a glorified copy boy right now."

"He's not a...copy boy, Ms. Mercer." Kat informed her, as if Tess didn't know who he was.

_Vandal Vanderbilt._

Between him and that upstart Lane, she couldn't get a moment's peace and had taken to avoiding working out of her Planet office entirely when she could manage it. Vanderbilt seemed to make it his mission to make her life a living hell: causing public press fiascos she had to clean up, writing smear stories about her and LuthorCorp and having the gall to ask her to publish them. About the time Lex had surfaced, Vanderbilt had really gone rogue.

In the middle of what should have been a triumph, Vanderbilt concocted an exposé that highlighted her failings as CEO of LuthorCorp in Lex's absence. In addition to the supposed damage Tess had done to the company's image, Vanderbilt made the accusation that her "financial incompetency had wrecked LuthorCorp's bottom line and ravaged the city's already floundering economy." She remembered with distinct distaste how he sat in her office with that smug little grin and asked her to print the article.

The Daily Star ran it two days later.

Tess would have fired him except that every advisor she had implored that she not. The only way to salvage the wreckage was to grin and bear it, dismissing it as the smear campaign it was. Despite every best attempt at damage control, their stocks and the Planet's sales plummeted.

However, Tess had the mother of all aces up her sleeve that day. Vanderbilt's timing really couldn't have been better, because, in spite of every venomous attempt at slander, she had found Lex. Friday's edition with the headline "LEX LUTHOR ALIVE!" had wiped all the muck slinging away. Tess had even fed the interview with the rescuer to Lane and put it on the front page below the fold. Despite their rivalry, Lane had been an accomplice to Vandal Korrn's basement coup. Tess drove a heavy wedge between the uneasy partnership of salt and thorn, alleviating some of the sting in her wounds.

"Kat, tell him to kill the story. Then forward a copy to Brady and have him run with it."

"Yes, ma'am," she replied eagerly. "With pleasure."

Tess smoothed a red curl back into place as they entered the hanger. Kat reached to straighten Tess's starched white collar, but Tess batted her hand away and did it herself.

"Big day, ma'am," Kat said, while obviously absorbed with answering emails on her phone.

"Go wait in the helicopter," Tess told her curtly. Tess's entourage continued moving down the dimly lit hallway as a stunned Kat lurched to a halt.

A smug and satisfied smirk played at Tess's lips. Her staff—Lex's staff—had not willingly accepted her unexpected ascent. It had taken weeks to establish herself in the role. She had specifically chosen an assortment of female attachés who were more forward thinking in the role of women's rights. This had turned out to be a bit of mistake as they saw her as more of a sister-in-arms and took familiar liberties she wasn't comfortable with.

Since Lex Luthor's return, her control over his domain had been shaken. He was in no shape to be running his company and he had made it clear that her role would remain unchanged for the time being. She had been so relieved when she learned he was alive, but the state of affairs was worse than when he was missing. All his funds were being funneled towards _Prometheus,_ something so classified even she hadn't the foggiest. She felt like a glorified accountant at times, trying to keep up with it.

It had been exactly a month since Tess had first received word that Lex was indeed alive, and seventeen days since their first phone call. His preferred means of communication after that had been email—all signed "X". And she had yet to meet with him face to face.

Tess thought about the last time she had seen him. She was confined to an ICU bed in a Rio de Janeiro hospital, and had checked in on her so frequently, so concerned with her wellbeing. He had saved her life after that terrible explosion when she'd been left for dead. When everyone else had given up, he came back for her. She'd never be able repay her gratefulness to him, but she had devoted her life to trying. Despite the years apart, Lex had seen her loyalty.

It was apparent the unfortunate altercation involving losing Lex's ex-wife when he had commissioned Tess to spirit Ms. Lang away to safety had shaken his trust in Tess's ability. But she had proven herself in the months that followed, in her search for him and her handling of his empire.

Tess had boarded a LuthorCorp private jet within thirty minutes of his summons. His request that she bring the _artifact_ discovered by their teams in the arctic had been surprising and a bit baffling. His use of the word "their" had distracted her from that.

_Their teams. Our teams. His and mine. Ours. Us._

He was beginning to think of them as a team. She was proving herself and he was trusting her. But as she carried the large paperweight—the clear and faintly glowing, five sided, flat backed crystal—she wondered again. How had he known about it? Tess supposed she shouldn't be surprised he had informants littering the globe, even within his own house. It irked her that he had people checking up on her when she reported to him and him alone.

Apparently his trust in her wasn't so great. That little incident with his perfect little ex-wife, the ungrateful adulteress—did she not know what she had?—had caused that. She would make up for it. Tess would make up for that mistake. His total faith in her loyalty and reliability would be restored. She would do whatever was necessary.

"This way, Ms. Mercer," a heavily accented guard said, guiding her into an elevator. Her security detail was not allowed to join her. The elevator dropped quickly and she felt her stomach lurch. She was unsure how far they had descended when the doors finally opened, but it had to be far beneath the surface.

The air was cold and biting in the corridor they entered. She followed it to a set of double doors. Through the glass, she could see equipment and a faint blue glow. Tess mentally prepared herself for the severity of Lex's injuries. She knew they were extensive, but had few details.

A short elderly man of eastern European descent and a slight build nervously emerged. He gave her a half bow half nod and pointed to a black hemisphere adjacent the doors.

"Ms. Mercer," he squeaked awkwardly. "The retinal scanner please."

"Oh," she replied, "of course."

The device verified her identity and he led her into the antechamber.

"Dr. Aronofsky," he introduced himself, offering a hand which she ignored, "We're so glad you've finally arrived."

"Thank you, Doctor," she replied stoically, peering over him through the next set of doors. Then returning her attention to him, asked, "How is Mr. Luthor today?"

He gave her a puzzled expression.

"I...I wouldn't know," he stammered. Clearly he wasn't Lex's primary physician. Lex would never put up with someone so incompetent.

"Is that it?" he asked, nodding towards the box. "The device."

_Device?_

She gave him an annoyed and perturbed look.

"May I?" he inquired meekly, reaching for the briefcase.

"Lex has asked that I personally deliver this to him, Doctor," Tess informed him curtly with a reprimanding tone, "I'm not here to satisfy your curiosity."

"And you have...Delivered it personally that it is. Now, I'll take it from here. Thank you ma'am."

"I don't have time for this, Doctor. Now, take me to Lex."

His puzzled expression returned.

"Mr. Luthor," Dr. Aronofsky said slowly, "isn't here."

She paused, giving him her full attention, and slowly turned her head to the side, regarding him with a disbelieving expression.

"Excuse me?"

"This is a laboratory, not a medical facility, Ms. Mercer."

Tess pushed passed him and into the larger room beyond. The blue glow was brighter here, and it was indeed filled with equipment like a lab, but it could have easily been for medical purposes. Several frightened techs looked up at her, astonished. She moved quickly about the room and then hurried into the next. It was another similar set up.

"Ms. Mercer!" She heard Dr. Aronofsky cry, "you really can't be in here!"

"Where is he? Where is Lex?"

Room after room and no sign of him.

"Ms. Mercer," the doctor called again, finally catching up with her. "Please. You shouldn't be in here. Just give us the device and you can be on your way."

"What have you done with him?" she demanded.

"Mr. Luthor was never here."

"Oh, indeed?" Tess mocked harshly, her green eyes flashing, "Lex asked me to bring this to him here personally. Why would he do that if he wasn't going to be here?"

"I...I don't know, Ms. Mercer. You'd have to ask him."

Tess regarded him quietly for a moment, reality revealing itself slowly.

"Now, please, Ms. Mercer, the device?" Aronofsky said. "Mr. Luthor was very specific that we should start on it immediately."

"You're not getting your hands on this," she informed him matter-o-factly, gripping the case tighter and walking back the way she came.

Aronofsky grabbed her arm to stop her. She spun and snatched up his wrist, pulling him very close to her.

"Don't ever touch me."

She paused for a moment longer, tense silence lingering in the air like a gust of cold from a freezer. He nodded and swallowed, and she let go.

"Kat," she said into her phone, "shut this place down. Mr. Luthor isn't here."

* * *

_A/N: thanks for reading. Reviews welcome.  
_


	4. Three

_**A/N 03-2011: There is a new Chapter One (2 . One); the original is now Chapter Two (3 . Two); this chapter _was_ second after the prologue and is now Chapter Three (4 . Three)**_

Disclaimer: DC content not mine. Not making $

Spoilers through Season 8. Alternate Universe. Set Post Season 7. Features some Original Characters. No Clark. Lex knows.

Cover Art: http : / /lyxanderblue .deviantart .com/gallery/#/d38wuyl

* * *

**SOMEONE TO BELIEVE IN**

"_You hold the future of the entire planet in your hands; I'm here to take it back. I loved you like a brother, Clark, but it has to end this way."_

_- Lex Luthor, on the day Clark Kent died.  
_

* * *

**THREE**

* * *

.

**The ISIS FOUNDATION**

.

"Jimmy! I– ," Chloe protested into her phone, as she typed furiously at her keyboard. "I know. I know!...Jimmy, I...could you just...wait, I...Jimmy! Jimmy? "

She exhaled noisily and tossed her phone onto the table, a little more harshly than she intended. Brushing aside with annoyance the blonde bangs that had grown out too much, she reached for her towering cup of triple espresso infused steamed milk. She put it to her lips, ready to knock it back.

Empty.

The cup came down on the table top more forcibly than intended. Chloe wanted to chalk it up to caffeine withdrawal. Or overdose. But there was that niggling voice of reason in the back of her mind that told her it was more. She was ragged around the edges in a way that was unfamiliar and reminded her more of Lois than herself.

Chloe had come back from Black Creek different. She tried to write it off to Oliver as stress over Clark disappearing, to Lois as emotional duress from Jimmy's marriage proposal, and to Jimmy as the combined stress of her being fired from her dream job, arrested by the Department of Domestic Security, and abandoned by her two best friends in the span of a few weeks. As long as she kept the issues compartmentalized to each person, she could handle it. The problem was they all kept prying about other things and it was all spilling over and mixing together.

What they didn't know was what Chloe assumed Lex probably did: her brain was a supercomputer. Once free from meteor-infected prison, she hacked into every LuthorCorp system she could and erased all the information they had on her. Firewalls seemed to drop for her with little more than the press of the delete key, but she was sure there were terabytes of data in un-networked drives that were out of her reach. The rest of her time had been spent searching for Clark and checking up on Lex.

How Oliver had not seen the changes in her, she wasn't sure. They were all frazzled and on edge looking for Clark and waiting for the other shoe to drop, whether it be Clark's whereabouts or what Lex knew. Nonetheless, her hacking skills had gone from analog to digital and then some, and Oliver seemed none the wiser. Maybe he didn't notice, maybe he didn't care. That was fine by her. She would take any advantage she could get if it meant protecting Clark's secret and bringing him home safely: to hell with the costs.

Chloe knew there would be a cost. She had been around Clark and his super -secret world long enough to know that. What would be her cost? Even Clark's gifts had a cost. They cost him his freedom, his dad, Lana, and maybe his life.

_No! _

Not that. She wasn't ready to accept that yet. He was just lost or hidden somewhere, maybe locked away for safe-keeping by Jor-El again. She would find him. And shouldn't wait around worrying about the cost. She would pay the piper when he came, just like Jonathon Kent did if she had to.

There was no point in telling anyone. She knew that. They would only worry and try to help or fix it. There was nothing anyone could do, of that Chloe was severely confident. Even if there was something to be done, she needed her new skills too badly at present to give them up.

And who could she tell? Not Lois. Not Oliver, even if he was privy to a few things Kryptonian she wasn't about to distract him from the search for Clark. He'd understand that her new skills were necessary.

And Jimmy?

No. When she had finally admitted to Jimmy months earlier she had a meteor-power, he had reacted better and worse than expected. How could she explain to him that her built-in glow-and-heal feature went into remission when she was infected by an evil Kryptonian supercomputer AI that had given her every hacker's dream upgrade?

_"What's a Kryptonian?" _she mused he would say. That was one conversation she just wasn't having. Clark's secret had to be protected more than ever. With even the possibility of Lex knowing Clark's secret, they had done everything possible to cover their tracks. She and Oliver had ransacked the farm for every Kryptonian artifice they could find—crystals, notebooks, boxes of Kryptonite in its various incarnations, hexagonal and diamond-shaped trinkets—and safely locked them away in several safe locations, some under Queen Industries' security and other's hidden away by Chloe. Neither of them knew where all of it was hidden, in case either of them was compromised.

In the meantime, Lois wanted to know whether she was planning a wedding or a single-girls' night out. Chloe had been able to throw blood-hound Lane off the scent of missing Clark with Jimmy's proposal sitting in limbo, but not for long. It had gotten messy and she eventually resorted to using her new-found skills and forged an email from Clark to Lois, saying he had decided to spend some time with Kara and their family in Minnesota. A brief, intermittent correspondence ensued and Lois ended up "breaking the news" to Chloe that Clark had moved up north indefinitely.

Kara.

Now there was another story. Where was she? What had Braniac done with her? If anyone could help Chloe find Clark, it was her. Kara, however, might be in need of saving of her own. Had Lex Luthor single handedly brought down the entire house of El in a few short weeks? No. She wouldn't accept that. Not yet. As far as she was concerned, this was just another chapter in Clark's book of absent and unavailable without reason or notice. And to everyone else, the Kents were on vacation.

With the rest of the world reconciled to Clark's whereabouts, there was little explanation for Chloe's distracted and bizarre behavior. Jimmy was understanding at first, then jealous of all the attention Clark was getting from her, and finally angry and bitter that she had yet to answer his proposal.

It all boiled down to a serious case of bad timing. Chloe had just gotten out of the hospital after a confrontation with a wolf in a blonde's clothing when Jimmy got down on one knee. In the middle of his confession of undying love and promises of forever, Chloe was abducted by goons posing as Feds and then locked away for over a month.

Her world was already spinning out of control, but when she got out her best friend was missing and everything else seemed less important. The real problem was, in the moment, Chloe was one hundred percent ready to say yes. Now, it was all so messy. It wasn't that Chloe didn't want to say "yes," she just really wanted to say "yes, but just not right now." She could imagine how well that would go over.

Marriage would change everything, but even more so, an engagement would take everything. She didn't have time and smiles and thoughts to give to planning a wedding; not like Jimmy deserved, not like she wanted. How could she waste her time with diamonds and taffeta when Clark Kent had vanished at the North Pole and the last person to see him alive was presumably Lex Luthor?

Jimmy was slipping through her fingers and she barely noticed.

Chloe sighed at the thought, pushing it from her mind, and reached for her cup again. Her hand paused in mid-air.

"Time for a refill," she said to herself.

Gathering her things and locking down the computers, Chloe sealed up the Watchtower setup and headed for the door. She paused at the door and fumbled in her purse for keys. She jolted, startled, when she saw the backside of someone bent over next to the reception desk; the person, definitely a man, was about Oliver's height and build was, and the top of his golden head was visible. She wasn't expecting him until late that evening.

"I get that sneaky is your biz, Ollie, but you should really make a habit of announcing your presence. I'm not really one for surprises these days." Chloe said, placing a hand over her racing heart; she thought of the handgun in her purse Oliver had given her. Without Clark to run interference, they were more careful of late. As an afterthought concerning the shapely, raised posterior, she added with admiring smirk, "Not that I mind the view."

He stood and turned around; a different face than expected appeared from behind the counter of the reception desk.

"Oh!" The young-man-that-was-not-Oliver said, "I didn't realize anyone was here."

A million or so questions and possibilities ran through the lightning-speed processor that was her brain in a few seconds. There was no record of his face, though it was strikingly familiar somehow, especially the eyes. It was exceedingly frustrating for her now when she couldn't think of something

"You wanna tell me how you found yourself inside a locked office," Chloe asked, "or should I just call the police now and save us both the trouble?"

"With the keys," he replied simply, jingling a pair next to his smiling face. "You must be Chloe Sullivan." the young man said with a toothy, friendly grin, dusting his hands off on a cloth. He came around the desk with an outstretched hand; he rescinded it slowly, his smile fading, when she didn't take it.

"My name is Christopher. Christopher Hawke. Ms. Lang sent me to...take care of things around here for a while," he said, absently brushing the blond hair out of his brown eyes. Those eyes were so familiar to Chloe; it was killing her that she couldn't place them. Then she actually heard what he said.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm the new caretaker for the Isis Foundation," Christopher reiterated. "I'll be running things around here for a while, on Ms. Lang's behalf of course."

Chloe couldn't help but laugh. That was her job, or at least unofficially it was. She didn't need someone nosing around, especially with everything else on her plate at the moment. She eyed him with skeptical curiosity.

"Really," she said more than asked, as she skirted passed him towards the receptionist computer. "I find that hard to believe. I think she might have mentioned something like that."

"Right. Cause she's so...accessible these days."

Chloe pursed her lips and frowned. He had a point.

"And you know Lana how?"

He stood across from her smirking, chin on fist and elbow on counter.

"We're...old friends," he replied simply. Despite his ambiguity, she sensed more sincerity than guile. "I work for Ms. Lang on an...as needed basis."

"We don't really need a receptionist," Chloe parried, as she typed away.

"Funny," he replied, unfazed. "Listen...Chloe? May I call you Chloe? I understand you have your hands full around here. I'm here to take some of the load off."

She considered the information on the screen and weighed whether or not she bought it. It was acceptable for the moment. She left the computer and returned to the center of the waiting room.

"Look, Christopher, I'm sure you're a nice guy, and that you're adequately qualified for whatever is you think you'd be doing here—"

"Adequate," he interjected. "Oh, nice."

"—but this is a very...specialized...foundation," Chloe continued measuredly, trying to wrap up and get rid of Christopher as quickly as possible. "We have all the help we need around here right, now. So, thanks, but no thanks."

Chloe opened the door and gestured that he should leave.

"Chloe," Christopher said simply, no longer smiling. "I wasn't asking."

Chloe cocked her head, taken aback by his gall. She assumed a closed-lip, mirthless smile and then began again with a different approach. "I know it's a tough economy and I'm sure you mean you well, but you're scamming the wrong girl for a job. We don't really pay around here. And if we did...well...we deal with some sensitive information here that's way above your pay grade."

"The 'research facilities.'" Christopher interrupted, using his fingers to put quotes around the latter two words, "The one that cost a small fortune. The one that's poorly concealed behind those double doors in there."

Christopher nodded simply towards her Watchtower setup that Lana's divorce settlement from Lex had paid for. His face was challenging her for a response. He could walk right in there and open the doors and she would still deny what it was.

"Oh, you meant the patient files of the meteor-infected," he said sarcastically, "My bad."

He smiled kindly at the look of surprise Chloe was fighting. She glanced out the open door and quickly closed it, hoping no one overheard him. She walked up to him and spoke firmly. "I'm not sure what you think you know, but I've got a lot to do and I don't really have any more time for this."

"Good," Christopher grinned at her, and went back to his boxes. "Then you'd better get going. I've got plenty to keep me occupied here."

Chloe scoffed aloud at his impudence, eyeing him in disbelief. Christopher paused at the computer and cocked his head.

"You googled me," he said, still grinning. "I should have expected as much. Let's see...what did you find? Christopher Hawke. Twenty-Three. Graduated 2003 with a high school diploma and an A.A. from Ashbury College boarding school in Ottawa—that's right, I'm Canadian. Don't hate—Received a Bachelors in Art History—boring, I know—from École des Beaux-Arts in Bourges, France in 2005.

"It gets a little fuzzy after that, though. Doesn't it? Well, let me sum it up for you. I'm no brain child like you, but I graduated high school early due purely to an expensive education that allowed me to do so. _Which_ allowed me to finish college early and then I bummed my way around Europe, working the occasional odd job. Until I was sought out by my old friend Lana Lang, whom I was briefly acquainted with in the summer of 2004 when she was attending an arts program in Paris on the dime of her future and now ex-husband Lex Luthor. Sound about right?"

"Flawless cover story," Chloe retorted flatly, "Though she never mentioned you, Christopher."

"I can't imagine she would have," Christopher mused allowed, leaving the computer behind and moving to face Chloe. "We were little more than classmates and she was so taken with Jason, well...you know how that turned out."

Chloe acknowledge with a nod. He was good. And he didn't seem slimy. She wished he did; it would make it easier not to believe him. He was being cute with her, but it seemed genuine; not even charming or flirty, just sincere and kind. That made her more suspicious.

"Well, Christopher, it was nice meeting you and all," Chloe told him with little genuineness, taking Christopher by the arm and guiding him towards the door, "but you really need to be going now."

Chloe opened the door and stood her grown.

"M-" he began, then paused and took a breath, "Chloe, this really isn't necessary. Ms. Lang hired me to do a job and I intend to do it."

Chloe obstinately shook her head in disagreement. "I don't know who hired you or what the job was, but it's not here and it's not today."

Christopher pursed his lips and crossed his arms, regarding her with frustration. He seemed to deliberate for a moment and then nodded.

"Fine," he acquiesced, retrieving his jacket. "I'll go."

Christopher walked past her and through the doorway without another word. She closed the door behind him, but felt resistance before it latched. She peaked through the gap and saw him his palm pressed against the door and his brown eyes peering back at her.

"I'll be back," he told her resolutely.

Chloe pushed the door shut and locked it. She lay back against it and exhaled.

_What was that?_

The possibility that this Christopher Hawke worked for Lex was very likely in her mind, but seemed too obvious even if it was a change of pace. Maybe it was this new Tess Mercer's doing.

Chloe reached for her phone to give Oliver a heads up about the unwelcomed guest, but then remembered he was still in the air. She dialed Lois instead. Even if she couldn't reveal all the juicy details, she could still vent and Lois might even break a story when all was said and done. Plus, Chloe was still jonesing for a java fix.

Straight to voicemail.

It was just as well. Chloe wasn't particularly keen on leaving _Isis_ unattended with a squatter chomping at the bit. Lois would scale mountains for coffee, but she wasn't delivery. Chloe quickly dismissed the notion of calling Jimmy just for a latte. He was still mad and undoubtedly needed a few more hours to cool off before she went crawling on hands and knees with "I'm sorry's" and "I love you's."

Chloe's heart hurt when she thought of the wedge between them. It hurt even more as she thought of Clark. He would have been there in seconds with a piping hot cup of Joe and a righteous indignation about her visitor. She sighed at the thought and filled with worry again.

With renewed vigor and motivation, Chloe returned to Watchtower setup. She'd run a search on this Christopher Hawke and then get back down to business looking for Clark. As she settled into her seat, Chloe paused and looked at her phone. Her finger hovered over the button and then she hit "Call."

It rang once.

"Davis, hi. So, I was wondering...do you make house calls?"

* * *

_A/N: thanks for reading. Reviews welcome.  
_


	5. Four

_**A/N 03-2011: A new Chapter One (2 . One) has been inserted, pushing all other chapters, except the Prologue, down one.**_

Disclaimer: DC content not mine. Not making $

Spoilers through Season 8. Alternate Universe. Set Post Season 7. Features some Original Characters. No Clark. Lex knows.

Cover Art: http : / /lyxanderblue .deviantart .com/gallery/#/d38wuyl

* * *

**SOMEONE TO BELIEVE IN**

"_You hold the future of the entire planet in your hands; I'm here to take it back. I loved you like a brother, Clark, but it has to end this way."_

_- Lex Luthor, on the day Clark Kent died.  
_

* * *

**FOUR**

* * *

.

**STREETS Of METROPOLIS**

.

Oliver knew that Clark hadn't exactly embraced the life of crime fighting. Of course he was all about the save, but Oliver hadn't been able to wrangle the Boy Scout into his fold...yet. Still, even on his worse day the guy still managed to rescue someone's kitty or put out a trashcan fire. Oliver, unfortunately, did not have the natural skills to multitask like Clark did: rushing here and there, doing in seconds what might take Oliver hours.

With him and Chloe tying up so much time looking for Clark, Oliver's regular duties—both in and out of costume—had been woefully neglected. Chloe had convinced him to take the better part of a week and focus on his company and the streets of Metropolis. Chloe had holed herself up at Isis while Dinah had taken point on the search for Clark, crisscrossing the globe veritably at Chloe's every whim. Oliver needed to find someone to cover for both his day and nighttime activities. In the meantime, he'd have to make due.

Which is how he found himself in his current predicament: woefully exhausted, perched atop an impound lot light pole, and surrounded by a pack of Doberman pincher watchdogs. His favorite compound bow lay twenty some odd feet away in the paws of a less interested canine that would much rather gnaw on carbon fiber and rubber. A simple car thief didn't seem worth it now.

The dogs didn't look like they'd be losing interest any time soon. The fierce hounds snarled and barked, pawing and scratching the pole, desperate to sink their teeth into his green hide. Oliver hoped he could just wait them out, but they were in a frenzy and showed no signs of tiring. His stun darts had run out earlier that evening. The collapsible mini-crossbow that fit into a holster at his side was equipped with a grappling hook, but there was nothing in his radius to latch onto.

"Easy, rover," Oliver deigned to one of the more eager watch dogs scratching at the pole.

It was at times like that Oliver envied Clark's invincibility and other gifts; he was also frustrated by how wasted they were tending to a farm. He thought about calling in for some backup, although he couldn't imagine what help was available, but his pride wouldn't consider it. It was a simple and embarrassing predicament, but he was stuck none the less.  
.

* * *

.

**QUEEN TOWER**

.

Christopher's week hadn't gone at all as intended. In fact, nothing really had worked out the way he planned or imagined. Though, as far as plans went, he really was just "winging it." In hindsight, expecting to just waltz into Isis and be welcomed with open arms was sort of naïve and ridiculous. Christopher knew he wanted the same things they did: finding and bringing Clark Kent home safe and sound.

He just didn't know how to explain that. Or convince them. He wasn't about to give up. He just needed more information and a way to gain their trust. He'd try again at Isis in the morning, but he was hoping that a mano-e-mano chat would do the trick. Which is why Christopher was riding the elevator up to the executive office—and residence, if he understood correctly—at the top of Queen Tower. That it was after hours and he was showing up unannounced was a minor detail.

Christopher pulled out his tablet and turned it on, the blue glow illuminating his pale face in the burnt orange, intentionally unfinished urban style elevator car. He had been doing as much reading as possible—it was almost all he had done—since arriving in Metropolis. If his mother taught him one thing, it was the value of knowledge and information.

A program was still running. He had performed a minor hack on the 'research facility' at Isis and was able to remotely access a finite amount of information. What he saw on the screen unsettled him.

Christopher hit the stop button, the alarm sounding, and then directed the elevator back down to the first floor. He hoped he was wrong about what he saw. At any rate, he now knew the penthouse office was currently vacant so his visit had been in vain. So far, his every move had felt futile and he was really ready for his luck to change. His foot tapped impatiently as the illuminated numbers counted down a little too slowly.  
.

* * *

.  
"Are you just gonna sit up there all night?"

_Chloe_.

Oliver looked around; he hadn't noticed any security cameras earlier. Peering into the darkness over his left shoulder he spotted a small white box atop the fence. It moved back and forth, as if waving at him. He offered a halfhearted salute.

"Oh, ya know, Chloe," Oliver said, pressing his earpiece. "I gotta get my beauty rest wherever I can catch it. How long you been watching me?"

"Long enough. I saw your green blip sitting still for quite a while, so I thought I'd investigate. You don't call me Watchtower for nothing."

"Glad to know I have my privacy," he muttered.

"You want help or not."

"What are you gonna do? Hack the puppies?"

"Cute. There's an automated gate not far from you."

Oliver could see the front of the impound lot and its heavy duty gate. He was just out of sight of the guard. It was wonder they hadn't seen him on the security cam Chloe had hijacked.

"There's a cherry picker parked on the other side of it."

"What, you're gonna go all grand theft auto and cyber-jack it to pick me up?"

"Something like that."

Oliver had his doubts about the plan, but she had been pulling off some amazing feats as of late. He was beginning to suspect something up.

"Alright, we'll play it your way." He said, "I'm ready to be wowed."

"Your carriage well be there in five."

A raucous scraping of metal signaled the gate opening. Some of the dogs' attention was drawn by the noise. He waited impatiently for his ride. Several minutes passed.

"He Chlo'," Oliver said, "not to be pushy, but how's your techno magic coming."

Static.

_Awesome. Lost the signal. _

In the distance, across the lot, Oliver heard several alarms go off. Moments later, the security guard could be seen sprinting towards the ruckus. An engine revved up and headlights were suddenly blinding Oliver. He heard the sound of a car getting rapidly closer; some of the dogs scattered, others raced towards it. An old Cadillac lurched to a stop at the base of the pole; the darkly tinted window cracked an inch.

"Need a ride?" a male voice yelled.

Oliver didn't wait, but instead shimmied down the pole far enough that he could drop safely onto the car roof. He hit with a crunch, the metal denting slightly. The Cadillac peeled out, the barking Dobermans chasing after them.

"Whoa! Slow down there, hotrod!" Oliver called and banged on the roof; he barely hooked his fingers into the open window as inertia pulled his body across the car. He felt the passenger window roll down an inch and he hooked in there too.

"Arrow, this is Watchtower; can you hear me?" Chloe's voice crackled in over his headset.

"Not really a good time, Chlo," Oliver replied curtly.

His body swung widely as they banked a corner. Headlines of the Green Arrow seen riding atop a stolen car leaving an impound lot was at the bottom of his wish list, so Oliver carefully reached for the passenger door handle.

Locked.

Oliver tapped on the door and window, but the driver didn't unlock the door. They sped through the open gate towards freedom. Oliver fought to hang on as they hung a sharp left and tore down the empty street. The car turned sharply into an ally three blocks away between two darkened apartment buildings and stopped.

Oliver jumped off the roof quickly and went to the driver's door. The car jerked into reverse and zoomed back onto the street, facing the way they came. Oliver sprinted towards the Cadillac as the door opened. Something was tossed out before the door slammed and the car darted away.

Oliver slowed his pace as he approached the street to see what the mysterious driver had left behind. What he found when he knelt both surprised and amused him: his bow. He picked it up in wonderment, fingering the teeth mark, and went to the street.

The red taillights of the Cadillac were visible in front of the impound lot. The driver stopped at the open gate and the door swung open. The driver got out – he wore dark clothes and had a hoody covering his head – and sprinted away, disappearing around the corner.

"Huh."

Oliver thought about pursuing him, but since the mystery man turned out to be his rescuer instead of a carjacker and he someone how retrieved his favorite bow, Oliver let him go. Sirens and flashing red and blue filled the dark night, converging on the lot. Slinging his bow over his back, Oliver moved towards the alley and stepped on something.

Kneeling down again, Oliver found a tangled mess of wires, a small metal rod, and what looked like a clock face. It took him a few moments to figure it out, but he breathed in sharply when he did: a timer and an explosive detonator.

He realized it was where his bow had landed and he missed it the first time. Whoever had rescued Oliver had also disabled a bomb and left the evidence for Oliver. It was a clue or hint of some sort. His mystery rescuer must have also called the bomb squad because one of their dark vans tore past Oliver, splashing muddy water towards him. He jumped out of the way and disappeared into the shadows. With questions burning in his mind, he fired his grappling hook towards the rooftops.

.

* * *

**DAILY PLANET, EDITORs OFFICE**  
.

Tess stared in disbelief at the email before her. How she could have made such an egregious oversight, she didn't understand. It had been a less than two weeks since her visit to Switzerland and she hadn't heard a word from Lex. She thought they had lost him again, that someone had gotten to him, or worse. Oh, how wrong she was.

.

_Your paranoia, rash behavior, and lack of trust has cost me severely. I asked for the crystal, not to see you. I know you're unaware of the vast resources I had invested in that facility, or of the hand-picked world-class scientists housed there, because it wasn't a LuthorCorp asset._

_However, I can see that you acted out of misguided loyalty. Consider this a pass. In the future, I expect you to follow my orders to the letter. We can't afford mistakes right now._

_I want Project Olympia reassembled and I'm putting you personally in charge of it. Do whatever it takes to unlock that crystal's secrets. I want results, Tess, not excuses. And I want real-time updates. I want to know what you know when you know it._

_As for LuthorCorp, worldwide acquisitions are flailing in this economic slump. Don't succumb to it; take advantage. Our AGI should be up 15% by year's end. Queen industries has been buying out from underneath us and exploiting my absence. I want it to stop. Take care of Oliver Queen._

_Effective immediately, I'm giving you full executive control of LuthorCorp's daily affairs; I can't be bothered with menial administrative decisions when we're on the cusp of a breakthrough that will change the world. Prometheus will be the Luthor's greatest accomplishment. Do not let anything compromise its wellbeing._

_And, Tess, stop wasting time and resources looking for me. – X_

.

Tess slumped back in her chair after rereading the message for the third time. She didn't know whether to sulk in her self-dissatisfaction of failing him or rejoice in his entrusting her with so much. 15 percent! How on Earth was she going to amass that much capital gain in less than three months? With Lex funneling every last bit of spare change towards Prometheus, she was already fighting to keep them out of the red. Perhaps crushing Oliver Queen was a great way to kill two birds with the proverbial one stone. And what was Lex's interest in this crystal?

"Believe me, I reacted the same way when I saw today's headlines."

Tess looked up to see Lois Lane barging through her office door and marching, red-faced, to her desk. Lane slapped the paper on the desk, as though Tess hadn't already seen it. Tess smiled condescendingly at Lane's behavior and rose from her seat to pour herself a glass of water.

"Lane. I haven't fired you yet?"

"Guess you're too busy printing my stories," Lois shot back.

"If she hasn't fired me, she's not going to fire you."

Vandal Vanderbilt had joined them. He was leaning in the doorway, a haughty and contemptuous look plastered on his face. He wore a deep brown shirt with a loosened maroon tie. Tess laughed aloud when she saw that Lane's outfit could have been cut from the same fabrics.

"We're writing stories together and matching ensembles now?"

Lane's glare was split between Tess and Vanderbilt.

"Is there a reason why you and your partner are barging into my office at this hour? Or do you just enjoy wasting my time?" Tess asked, directing the question to Lane, while gathering together her things.

"We're not partners."

"Just wondering when Luthor's going to appoint a real editor and let you get back to ruining his company." Vanderbilt said, stepping into the room and closing the door. He began to look around the office, fiddling with the trinkets on her shelves.

"The two of you are already on thin ice; I wouldn't push your luck."

"I'll take my chances," he retorted, grinning defiantly back at her.

Tess put on her coat and headed for the door; Lane intercepted her.

"What you pulled with the city transportation story a few weeks ago was bad enough, Tess, but this," Lane said hotly, putting the paper in front of her face and pointing at the story on the front page, "is whole other kind of low. This was our story. You approved not one, but three drafts before we submitted it."

"For two basement hacks with a Monday morning front page headline, you're rather unappreciative," Tess replied curtly, holding the door open: a not so subtle hint for them to leave.

"I know it comes so naturally," Vanderbilt said from behind, approaching nonchalantly and showing no signs of intending to leave, "but don't play dumb."

Tess lips parted ever so slightly as she fought to gape at his audacity; she saw Lane shoot him a warning look.

"You completely rewrote our story," he continued, "You put your own little Tess Mercer biased spin on it to protect your ass...ets."

"Ever heard of a little thing called journalistic integrity?"

"Yeah, would you like me to tell you about it?" Vanderbilt shot back.

"Oh, ho ho. He's a comic now. Care to take a stab at the funny pages?" Tess retorted quickly and dryly, "Listen you two, this paper is not your own little personal platform for mudslinging. There was a story there, but not the sensationalized one you'd hoped for."

"The thing about mud, Tess," Lane said scathingly, "is with a slant like yours, it always runs downhill. And we're the ones getting buried. Not only did you completely change our story, but you slapped our names on something that we don't stand behind. I want a retraction."

"If anything, I saved your reputations," Tess replied, "the frenzy that slander piece of yours would have stirred up would have had us printing a retraction by noon."

"It's libel when it's printed," Vanderbilt corrected her disdainfully.

"Not when the security cameras at Cadmus labs have Lois Lane on film loudly vilifying several public officials. My only surprise with that hole was that it wasn't your big mouth doing the digging, Vanderbilt," Tess countered smugly. "Not your best moment, Lane."

Tess ushered them out and locked the door.

"The last few months have been a little bumpy for you, and if I'd venture a guess, I'd say it has something to do with him," Tess said more quietly, looking Lane in the eyes, and then insinuatingly glancing towards Vanderbilt. "You wouldn't be the first colleagues to bump heads, and then find it convenient to pair up to see what goes bump in the night, but if you're not careful, you might find its your career that's been bumped off track. If I were you, I'd find a different partner."

Lane's eyes went wide as Vanderbilt visibly stifled a laugh; Tess turned and walked away.

"We're not partners!"

.

* * *

.

Continuing his patrol hadn't seemed like the best idea, but Oliver was a junky for abuse. He'd stopped three break-ins, two muggings, and one car-jacking. Compared to the way he had started his evening, it was walk in the park. Although, cracked goggles and a black eye had left him pissy.

It was also small potatoes. Clark could have cleaned up that mess in a fraction of the time and still gotten himself tangled up in some other more convoluted scandal. He also wouldn't have any war wounds or weariness to show for it. After this Oliver was going to need a stiff drink and a very long nap. Clark also would have found _him _by now, were there roles reversed. Oliver and Chloe hadn't the faintest idea were their flannel wearing Boy Scout might be.

As Oliver jumped from one rooftop to the next, he saw the globe of the Daily Planet come into view. He thought of Lois and missed her. Sometimes their reasons for being apart didn't make much sense, but he acknowledged that with the current state of affairs, he'd be an even worse boyfriend than before.

Oliver paused on the rooftop across the street from the Planet, LuthorCorp Plaza towering over them. A woman exiting the front doors caught his eye.

_Mercy._

Oliver shook his green-hooded head and grinned uncontrollably. Tess Mercer was like a live wire and he was ill-fated insect; she had this irresistible allure, but he knew he'd get fried. Mercy crossed the street and the lights glinted off her red hair; it was worn up. He preferred it down in loose curls. She was so wound up. Everything about her was tight and stiff and controlled now. He followed her path ten stories above. Though she'd never actually let him, he thought the least he could do was walk her to her car. She pulled her black pea coat tighter against the cool night air, as if she knew he was watching.

When Mercy arrived at her car, she paused and stooped beside it. Oliver cocked his head, watching her curious behavior, and crouched. Then he saw it: the knife sticking out of her tire. He couldn't help but chuckle. As a titan of industry, he'd had a few run-ins with disgruntled employees and the like.

Oliver's mirth faded when he saw the tire slasher approach Mercy from behind.

"Oh, hell no," Oliver whispered, and swung his legs over the side of the building.

He was a tall, brawny, dark-skinned man with a shaved head and a dishonest presence. Oliver was half way down the side of the building, the only sound from the tiny wench lowering him speedily to the ground, when the man put his hands around Mercy's neck from behind.

He said something to her Oliver couldn't hear and then slammed her forcibly against a wooden power pole. The air left her lungs in a high pitched gasp; Oliver's feet touched the ground.

The man's face moved into the light and Oliver's pace faltered for a mere second.

_Marcos._

The memories flashed through his mind in an instant: the island he was stranded on, getting captured by Marcos and his pirates, meeting Mercy and Megan only to watch Marcos kill Megan, and then escaping the island with Mercy, leaving Marcos for dead.

Marcos raised a knife and Oliver raised his bow.

"You left me on that island to die—"

_Thwump._

The arrow grazed over Marcos's knife hand, slicing open two fingers, and penetrated his shoulder, knocking him back and to the ground. Mercy spun, a frightened look on her face; her cold cowl returned when she saw him, or rather the Green Arrow.

"Are you alright...miss," Oliver asked through his voice changer, adding the latter as an afterthought. He looked her over for injuries.

She nodded, gingerly touching her throat.

"Guess you have tomorrow's headline?" he joked.

"I wouldn't bet on it," she said flatly, then pushed him aside and thrust forward sharply. Oliver barely caught a glimpse of Marcos rushing towards them and Mercy's four inch heel snapping out and cutting into Marco's forehead.

Marcos fumbled and then slashed blindly with the knife. Mercy kicked it from his hand and Oliver grabbed Marco's arm, swinging his other elbow into the side of the man's head. Marcos collapsed to the asphalt.

"Nice assist," Oliver told her.

Mercy ignored him and walked to her car. She stopped and turned towards him.

"What were you doing in the arctic?"

Oliver cocked his head to the side; the question caught him off guard.

"Just a little skiing."

"It's just, I'm sure you know why I was there," Mercy said shrewdly.

"Yes, and the world is much safer since you've brought Lex Luthor safely home."

"Lex isn't the menace," she countered, her eyes narrowing. "You are. You've stolen from and terrorized Lex enough times, destroying LuthorCorp property and thousands of jobs in the process, for that to be painfully clear."

"I'd expect his seat warmer to believe his lies and I won't waste my time trying to convince one of his brainwashed lackeys to believe in the good we're doing."

"Mm. Well, it seems you didn't steal anything this time, Robin Hood," she continued. "Maybe you didn't find what you were looking for. Or maybe, you were there for a different reason. One of Lex's friends, a Clark Kent, went missing about the same time. You wouldn't know anything about that now, would you?"

"Sorry, I don't keep up with the Luthor social calendar," Oliver said quickly, ready to back out of that conversation. "Well, I've got some more distressing damsels to _terrorize_. I'd wait around for a "thank you," but your genial company is losing its charm by the minute. Try not to get mugged again tonight; I can't guarantee I'll come to your rescue after this lovely little chat."

Oliver turned and sprinted towards the building, hopping atop a dumpster and then easily scaling the side of the building using the ample window ledges. He disappeared into the night, his mind churning, wondering about Tess, and Lex, and Clark, and his mystery rescuer, and the bomb that didn't go off.

* * *

_A/N: thanks for reading. Reviews welcome._

_Chapters FOUR, FIVE, and SIX started out as one chapter so if you want to consider them that way, that's fine. FOURa FOURb FOURc ...whatever  
_


	6. Five

_**A/N 03-2011: A new Chapter One (2 . One) has been inserted, pushing all other chapters, except the Prologue, down one.**_

Disclaimer: DC content not mine. Not making $

Spoilers through Season 8. Alternate Universe. Set Post Season 7. Features some Original Characters. No Clark. Lex knows.

Cover Art: http : / /lyxanderblue .deviantart .com/gallery/#/d38wuyl

* * *

**SOMEONE TO BELIEVE IN**

"_You hold the future of the entire planet in your hands; I'm here to take it back. I loved you like a brother, Clark, but it has to end this way."_

_- Lex Luthor, on the day Clark Kent died.  
_

* * *

**FIVE**

* * *

.

**ACE Of CLUBS**

.

Vandal Vanderbilt was sitting at the bar nursing his second beer. The trendy, expensive Ace of Clubs wasn't exactly his taste, with its white and silver décor and erratically placed hanging light thingies; he preferred his bars dark, dank, and cheap, but it was conveniently close to the Planet. It was easier to keep an eye on things from there, and a lot of interesting, high-profile patrons trafficked the hot night spot.

A man in dark, nondescript street clothes sat down next to Van. He stuck out painfully despite his attempts to be inconspicuous; he was fidgety, nervy, and casting furtive glances. He tapped at the edge of the bar and then made a hand gesture—which he didn't seem fully committed to—to get the bar tender's attention. He ordered a beer.

Van ignored him completely, watching people instead. When the man finished his brew, he set it down gruffly. Van barely saw the slide of hand as the man slipped something under Van's coaster while snatching up a napkin and wiping his mouth. Van counted to fifteen, picked up his drink, and slid the coaster closer with the other hand; with his thumb, he slid the flat, hard item out from under the coaster and into his palm.

_Minidisk, maybe an SD card, or a flash drive..._

Van put his empty drink down, and slid it and the coaster towards the back, signaling he wanted another. Putting his hand in his pocket, Van deposited the item and retrieved four bills: one Lincoln, one Hamilton, and two Benjamins. The fifteen was for the next round; the rest ended up under a napkin that was discreetly taken by his neighbor.

The bartender returned, the man paid with a card and then left. Van knew what digital data was now sitting in his pocket, so he was in no hurry to leave. He'd have a few more drinks before thinking about taking a cab back to his apartment.

"Is this seat taken?"

Van looked up and saw a man about his age. He was dressed in nice, dark street clothes and the dark hood from the layer below his jacket billowed around his neck like a scarf. His shag of golden hair obscured his eyes and his smile was meant to be disarming and unobtrusive. Van prided himself on his ability to read people. The innocent face and slightly apprehensive air told Van two things: he was probably new in town, and, of all the customers in the Ace of Clubs, was the least likely to be a story. He also knew when people were projecting, and this guy wasn't especially interested in being seen, or at least not noticed. There might be a story there.

"Please," Van replied demonstratively, "It's all yours."

"Thanks."

"What'll you have, sweetheart?" asked the buxom bartender, smiling sweetly at the newcomer. She was taken with his angelic charm.

"Um...rum and coke?"

"Preference of rum?"

"Malibu," he replied definitively.

"Sure thing, sugar."

_Sugar is right. He likes his drinks sweet, but doesn't want a girly drink. Someone might say something, and that would cause unwanted attention. Let's see if he has a reason for wanting to blend in._

"You new in town?" Van said, putting on his friendliest demeanor.

He breathed a silent laugh. "Yeah. Is it that obvious?"

"Oh, don't feel bad. Everyone's new sometime," Van told him, offering his hand, "I'm Vandal, but you can call me Van."

"Van. Nice to meet you. I'm Christopher," he replied, and then smiled, adding, "And you call me Christopher."

Van laughed. "Alright, Christopher it is."

"So, is this the place to be, or what?" Christopher asked, looking around the club.

"Only if you're Metropolis's who's who," Van said.

"Oh, that's me," Christopher said, sarcastically. "So, I should expect to see the likes of Rachel Davenport, Tess Mercer, Oliver Queen, or maybe even the elusive Luthors."

"Yeah, this town really doesn't have much to offer in the way of likeable celebrities." Christopher chuckled and rolled his eyes. So, he didn't necessarily agree but wasn't willing to be confrontational about his opinion. _What an odd notion, _Vandal thought.

He felt his pocket vibrate and fished out his phone; it had seen better days.

.

JIMMY: Van. Where R U? Got some great pics 2 show U ASAP

VAN: ace of clubs come on over ill buy u a beer

JIMMY: U won't wanna drink the nite away after U C these. OMW

.

"What does 'OMW' mean?" Van asked Christopher.

He thought a moment and then offered, "On my way?"

"Right. So, Christopher," Van said, taking a swig of beer, "where ya from? And what brings you to Metropolis, pinnacle of shiny and safe?"

It was no secret the rampant crime the city suffered.

"The _low_ crime rate definitely was a lure," Christopher replied. "I'm from...well, all over. I travel a lot for business."

_Right. Noncommittal, vague answer: gotta be hiding something._

"Oh, yeah?" Van said casually with enthusiastic interest. "That's cool. What do you do?"

"Consulting."

_Consulting? He's a business consultant? Like that's even a real thing. That's the oldest fake job in the book._

"What kind of consulting?"

"Oh, uh, I come in and help out when a place is floundering or has lost key internal figures."

"You wouldn't happen to be here to clean up the LuthorCorp mess, would you?"

"Oh, no," Christopher laughed. "Nothing that high end. I don't do a lot of corporate stuff."

"Really? What kind of _stuff_ do you do?" Van asked.

"Well, for instance, I'm in town as a stand in for a local foundation after its founder went AWOL."

_ Now things are getting interesting, _Van thought.

"Foundation?" Van asked as though he didn't understand the word. "Any place I might know."

"Probably not," Christopher replied. "It's a small, low key operation with a very specific focus."

"Vague much?"

"Ha, ha. Not on purpose, but yeah, I suppose I am. At any rate, I always keep those details confidential."

_This guy's not gonna let anything slip on accident; I'm going to have to pry it out of him. That's assuming there's anything there._

"Why's that?"

"Contractual obligations," Christopher said simply. "If your business was crumbling or in need of some dire clean-up, you wouldn't want that spread around town. That kind of PR is bad for biz."

Van nodded in agreement.

"Let me get this straight, you're here to fix a crumbling, floundering foundation 'in need of some dire clean-up' that wants to stay out of the spotlight because of the kind of business it does? That's got scandal written all over it if you ask me."

Christopher rolled his eyes. That disheartened Van because it meant he was probably wrong.

"Aren't you a little young for this kind of thing?" Van asked.

Christopher shrugged. "Like I said, small stuff not high-end corporate messes. I'm still just getting my feet wet."

Van nodded appreciatively, mulling it over.

"You sure are full of lots of question," Christopher pointed out lightheartedly. "I think it's—"

"Van!" It was Jimmy. "There you are."

Jimmy had a warm coat over his typical bowling shirt, which was stained and rumpled. He had been looking pretty rough lately.

"James, what do you got for me?"

Jimmy pulled several large glossy photographs out of a manila envelope and handed them to Van. Van crossed his arms as looked carefully over them.

"These were taken three weeks ago," Jimmy told him. "That puts our deputy mayor and the DA at Cadmus labs a full two weeks before the inquest."

Van's mouth gaped as he threw his hands in the air.

"This completely throws out that garbage Tess published this morning," Van exclaimed. "I cannot believe—"

"Wait a second," Christopher interrupted. "Vandal? As in Vandal Vanderbilt, the reporter?"

"The one if the same," Van replied with a melodramatic flourishing half-bow. It disappointed Van further that the revelation of him being a journalist didn't seem to faze Christopher in the slightest. "Oh, I'm sorry. Christopher, this is James Olsen: the Planet's finest photographer."

"Jimmy," Jimmy corrected Van, offering a hand to Christopher as he shuffled his full arm load.

"Jimmy," Christopher repeated as he took his hand, offering a broad smile and tossing the hair out of his face reflexively. "Christopher Hawke."

Jimmy nodded. Van could tell he was confused; he didn't know who Christopher was or why they were talking with him. Jimmy, unlike Van, wasn't especially social. Van and Lois shared the credo the more people you know the more connections you have, and the more connections you have the more information you get. That made Van a friend to everyone, and everyone an acquaintance, and possible informant, to Van.

"Guess that explains the 20 questions," Christopher said. "So, you're the one who co-wrote that _awful_ piece in this morning's issue of the Daily Planet?"

"Yeah," Van drawled, "But in my defense, that article was totally Lois's idea."

Jimmy and Christopher both seemed stunned and taken a back.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Van rescinded, laughing. He grew more serious and said, "That article is a twisted shadow of what we wrote and we're working on a retraction right now."

"We won't need one," Jimmy interjected, turning the focus back to business. "This proves everything in your original piece, and is enough to write two more. Tess Mercer will be eating crow, humble pie, and anything else you want to serve up."

Van smile slowly. "I like the sound of that. This story may have just blown wide open."

"Well, it looks like you two have work to do," Christopher said. "Why don't I get out of your way?"

Christopher climbed down from his chair and offered Jimmy his seat.

"What do you say we get a table, fellas? Drinks on me."

Van turned to see Oliver Queen, who was sporting a sizeable shiner. He looked more like a frat boy than an executive to Van with his leather jacket and skinny jeans.

"Oliver," Jimmy said, "You're back from your worldwide walkabout? And with some trophies..."

Jimmy gestured awkwardly towards his own eye, obviously unsure if he should point out the black and blue bruising around the blond billionaire playboy's eye socket. Van hadn't forgotten that Lois, Jimmy, and Jimmy's on-again-off-again girlfriend—whom he had yet to had the pleasure of meeting—were on friendly terms with Oliver Queen; the fact, due to its absurd nature, did occasionally slip his mind. Lois, in no uncertain terms, had made it clear that Oliver Queen, the Good Samaritan, was off limits. That only made Van more eager to dig up some dirt and write a headline or four.

_She's gonna flip when she reads the one sitting in my pocket._

"It seems even private jets are susceptible to turbulence," Queen said with what Van took as faux self-effacement. "Guess someone should have paid better attention to the 'fasten seatbelt' sign. You wouldn't think the back of a chair would feel like a left hook, but they're surprising similar."

_You are a terrible liar, _Van thought at him.

"Yeah, I bet they're real easy to mix up," Van commented dryly. More enthusiastically, he continued, "So, how about them drinks?"

Jimmy and Christopher shrugged and nodded their agreement. Oliver signaled to the bar tender and led them to a near buy table. Van wondered what Christopher thought of one of those aforementioned Metropolis celebrities showing up and buying them a round of brews.

He was torn between scooping Queen and vetting information from Christopher. Van wasn't much of a multitasker, but he'd do his best. He surmised that Queen's bigger personality, a foil to his own, would no doubt distract him from Christopher's more subdued disposition. That made him want to watch Christopher all the more.

"It's Vanderbilt, right?" Queen asked him, taking a chair and rolling up his sleeves.

"Vandal Vanderbilt. I prefer Van," he replied as the waitress brought their first round.

"So, you're Lois's new desk mate..." He grinned smarmily, pausing to take a drink. "I've been itching to meet the guy that can keep pace with Lois."

"She's the one who has to keep up with me, actually."

"Really?" Queen said, his cloud of arrogant disbelief was almost chocking, "You keeping her on her toes?"

"Among other things," Van said suggestively, loosening his tie.

Jimmy choked on his beer.

"I didn't realize that you two were—" Queen began more somberly.

"Things happen when you work closely," Van shrugged, leaving Queen reeling, Jimmy sputtering, and Christopher seemingly enjoying the show. "James, let's see these pictures again."

Van turned his attention towards Jimmy, who was fumbling to pull out the photos while whipping the beer from his face and the table. He'd already seen enough and come to his own conclusions, but he let Jimmy talk while he listened to the stiff introductions between Queen and Christopher. He made a mental note of the resemblance they bore one another, but then dismissed it as coincidence. Occasionally, he felt Queen's peeved glances at him, no doubt sore over the Lois subject. He was surprised at how quickly Christopher had warmed up to Queen given his glaringly obvious initial discomfort with rubbing elbows with the celebrity. Had he not know better, he would have thought he sensed a preexisting familiarity.

Van realized Jimmy was waiting for him to respond; too bad he hadn't been listening.

"Um, well James, if our original article could get printed in its entirety first, that would be great. I'm too angry right now to really have an opinion about the next one."

"I just asked if we should give Lois a heads up about this," Jimmy said, his eyes scrunched in confusion.

"Right," Van said, scrambling for the recovery. "I guess so. I figured you already had."

"On it."

"You guys working on an encore to this morning's rousing success?" Queen asked, smirking.

"Something like that," Jimmy replied, obviously embarrassed about the piece.

"I'm sure your company's stockholders are just thrilled about Cadmus's collapse," Christopher interjected, shaking his head.

"I think you've got your mega-corporations mixed," said Jimmy hesitantly but confidently.

"He's right," Queen affirmed, "Queen Industries doesn't own Cadmus labs; that's a LuthorCorp asset."

Normally, Van would have been the first to protest Christopher's stament, but there was something about his initial comment that had him listening instead of speaking for once. Christopher looked incredulously at Queen first and then confusion spread across his face.

"I...uh," he began slowly, "With respect..._Mr_. Queen, I think you're mistaken."

"I think Oliver would know what his own company owns, Chris," Jimmy countered. Van saw Christopher's blinking increase momentarily: the only sign of his annoyance at the truncation of his name. "Especially if it was at the heart of a high profile government scandal."

"Normally I wouldn't disagree with you," Christopher said, reaching for his bag; he had a thin leather over-the-shoulder messenger bag with him. "But I'm sure I just read about it this morning."

Christopher pulled out a tablet, tapped its touch screen several times, and laid it on the table for them to see. It was the second quarter analysis from the business section of the Daily Planet Online. Christopher pointed to a subsection and, using two fingers, enlarged the entry.

"See," he said, "here. Queen Industries acquired Axiom Group for seven point three million effective June thirtieth."

"Right. I'm familiar with the deal," Queen said. "I'm the one that spearheaded it."

"Isn't the Axiom Group in Star City?" Van asked coyly. He was well aware of what Christopher was getting at as well as of what was located where. It seemed he and this new guy were the only ones privy to the information, not that it was classified by any means; only one need know where to look. He wondered with pleased anticipation what Queen's reaction would be.

"And Cadmus Labs is right here in town. What does this deal have to do with anything?" Jimmy added.

"Right," Christopher said. "It says right here in the listings of what the acquisitions include."

Christopher clicked on the link and magnified.

"Axiom Aggregates, Axiom Tower, Star City MedCon, and the Chollaris Foundation," Queen read aloud. "Right. That's it. Very profitable deal for my company. No Cadmus Labs."

"But what about the Chollaris Foundation?" Christopher said.

"Yeah, what is that? I've never heard of it." Jimmy asked.

Van rolled his eyes. _As if you would have. Like you know of every business venture around, James._ Sometimes Jimmy's overzealous forays into matters above his head annoyed Van.

"They deal in medical research," Queen replied. "We've been branching out from tech into the medical field for some time now, especially into areas where they overlap."

"Like cybernetics?" Van asked, laughing. The disk in his pocket told him exactly what he wanted to know and what the Chollaris Foundation was. He didn't expect it to become cocktail conversation, but it didn't change anything. Queen would have found out sooner or later. It didn't change anything.

"Were...were you not aware of what Chollaris included?" Christopher asked delicately.

_Tact, _he thought scornfully. It was something had little use for but often found himself restricted by.

"Of course I was aware."

Christopher followed the link to the listings for the Chollaris Foundation.

"Besides their headquarters in Star City, they have additional properties under their heading: Metron Pharmaceuticals, a warehouse in Coast City, and Cadmus Labs."

"What?" Queen said in disbelief, picking up the tablet. "That's not right. Metron and Cadmus separately are both larger assets than Chollaris; they couldn't be just tacked on at the end...It says here their acquisitions were finalized the same day as my deal. That's not even legal under the terms of our contract."

"It looks pretty solid..." Christopher told him regretfully.

"It looks like you got duped," Van added cajolingly.

Queen picked up his beer, clicked it against Christopher's, sat back and took a swig.

"That kinda changes things doesn't it," Jimmy said slowly, breaking the silence.

Queen nodded appreciatively with pursed lips.

"Aren't you gonna do anything about it?" he continued, "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, making phone calls or something?"

"I will," Queen said simply, "after I've finished my beer."

Van regarded Queen with thinly veiled curiosity as Jimmy chattered away in his ear about the ramifications—he kept using that word and it was beginning to annoy him—as Christopher pointed out several other AP articles to Queen about the deal. He took a drink and found his bottle empty. The waitresses seemed to have vanished, despite the big spender at the table.

"Anyone want another?"

"I'll definitely be having another," Queen told him.

Jimmy nodded "yes;" Christopher shook his head "no."

When Van returned with two bottles, Queen was standing. Probably off to the restroom, Van surmised. Van's buzzing pocket startled him and he accidently knocked Jimmy's camera, which hung from the back of a chair, to the floor. Van hurriedly handed the two bottles to Queen and scooped up the camera, setting off the bright flash in the process.

"Careful there, spaz," Queen said, blinking away his temporary blindness.

"I'm so sorry, James," Van said, handing off the camera and pulling out his phone, "is it broken?"

"No worries, Van," Jimmy assured him. "It looks fine."

Van smiled in relief, and, as he opened his phone, glanced at the caller ID: "Lois Lane."

"Hey, beautiful," Van answered the phone, heavy on the charm and intent to aggravate.

"Are you still at the office?" She shot back with disgust.

"Ah, no," he refuted, "Sitting behind a desk just isn't the same without those pretty brown eyes of yours...glaring at me."

"I was half way to Smallville to pick up what has apparently become my new dog when Jimmy texted me. This better be good."

"No, no. Go get your puppy. You can leave your name on this morning's mess; I'll take the game changing follow-up."

"Not on your life, buster. Spill."

Van saw that Queen was watching him and that he knew Lois was on the phone.

"Well, beautiful," Van repeated, "I think you'll have to see for yourself. And it seems your beloved Mister Queen has somehow gotten himself tangled up in this."

Van grinned across the table at Queen spitefully.

"I hope you can corroborate your facts on that one, or you'll be the one tangled up in something," she warned.

"You're such a tease."

"And you're delusional," she retorted. "I'm five minutes out. You gonna come meet me?"

"I've had one too many," Van lied, "you're gonna have to be our DD."

"If you're too tipsy to tango with traffic then maybe you should just hit the hay."

"We really need to work on your mixed metaphors, Lois."

"Hanging up now," Lois said in a sing song voice.

"Just come get us and drop me off at my apartment," Van insisted more forcefully, "we can parley en route. That way you can drive yourself after we _finish._"

"You're gonna end up walking home," she warned. "You better be downstairs when I pull up."

"Love you too," he cooed sardonically and hung up.

Eyebrows rose expectantly round the table after his boisterous phone conversation.

"Come on, James," Van said. "Let's roll. We have work to do."

Jimmy hurriedly gathered his things.

"It's been real gentlemen," Van, rising from the table, said in a loud, leave-taking voice "Oliver Queen, thank you for the drinks. Christopher Hawke, if I don't see you again, pleasure making your acquaintance."

"Likewise, Van," Christopher smiled, absently brushing the hair from his face. Queen nodded and raised his bottle.

"Hey, uh, Van," Jimmy said, "Give me just a second, okay."

He nodded. Jimmy went around the table and leaned in close to Queen.

"Oliver, uh, have you...uh," Jimmy stammered, unsure. "How's Chloe? Have you seen her or heard from her?"

"Oh, Chloe." Queen was clearly caught off guard. "I...haven't really...I think Chloe's keeping herself pretty busy with Isis right now."

"It's just that I can't really seem to get our 'day, time, and place' synced up. The lines of communications are kind of crossed right now. And Lois is really playing right guard on this one. So, I was hoping that you—"

"Listen, Jimmy, man," Queen said, "I don't really wanna get in the middle of this, but I think she's still pretty bent out of shape over the Clark thing—

"Clark," Jimmy repeated the name like it was a curse.

"And the Lana thing," Queen interjected quickly. Then more quietly out of the side of his mouth, he added, "And the getting fired thing. And the getting arrested slash kidnapped thing.

"Look, just give her some time. I'm sure she'll come around. It's just bad timing. That's all, man."

"Alright. Thanks, Oliver," Jimmy acquiesced as Queen patted him on the shoulder.

Van jerked his head towards the door and Jimmy followed him. Christopher gave a "well that was uncomfortable" close–lipped smile and waved goodbye to them.

"Sorry about that," Jimmy told him as they walked to the elevator.

"No worries. Girlfriend still giving you problems, James?"

"Yeah, my 'put myself out there and get down on one knee' is still just sitting out there."

"They say the moment of silence between when you ask and when she answers feels like forever," Van said, "but I think you're setting a record. I don't know, man; I'd cut her loose."

"You don't know, Chloe. She's...worth the wait," Jimmy said just as the elevator doors opened for them.

"I hope your right."

Van followed Jimmy into the car and pressed "lobby" three or four times.

"Hey, who was that Christopher guy anyway?" Jimmy asked as the doors began to close.

"Maybe no one, maybe a headline."

.

* * *

.  
"So, Christopher," Oliver said, leaning forward, his casual playfulness gone, "You wanna tell me why you broke into my friend's place of business?"

Christopher was fighting a smirk that didn't seem fitting of the moment and that bothered Oliver. There was something about this Christopher Hawke that got to Oliver. It wasn't that he didn't like the guy, because, if he was honest, he found him kind of endearing. It was that there was something familiar about him that he couldn't put his finger on and it made Oliver very uncomfortable.

"So, you heard about that," Christopher said; he seemed to be straddling the fence between casually amused and shrinkingly meek.

"Yeah, she was a little shaken up about it. Breaking and entering can have that effect on a person." Oliver said sarcastically.

"Did she leave the part out where I had a key?"

"Speaking of which, where did you get that?

Christopher exhaled and smiled, dropping his head as he shook it.

"I'm sure _your friend _filled you in on the details," he replied. "Look, can I just level with you...Mr. Queen?" The final words seemed uncomfortable, unnatural in his mouth.

"Please."

"I'm here to help. I don't know how to make that any clearer," Christopher told him. Leaning in closer to match Oliver's posture, he absently brushed the hair from his eyes and added more quietly, "You...and Chloe...need to focus on bringing Clark Kent home. Ms. Lang is doing everything she can to find him; she sent me to help you so that you can do the same."

"What that's about anyway? You show up acting like you belong here, like you're in the middle of all this, like you're in on some hot secret. If Lana really was trying to help, don't you think she would have...I don't know...called? Dropped a line. Maybe a text or a tweet. Wrapped you up in a bow and stuck a tag on you?"

"The longer we all dance around like this, sizing each other up, the longer Clark is stuck where ever he is. He could be hurt or dying. Every moment we waste could turn into a moment too late." Christopher retorted emphatically. He pulled out an envelope and slapped it on the table between them. In a snarky tone, he added, "Sorry, my gift wrapping didn't make it through customs."

It was grey and sealed with pink wax, a single "L" in flowing script stamped into it. "Oliver Queen," was written on the front in a matching silver-grey ink that only showed when it caught the light. Oliver was skeptical and it showed as he picked up the letter.

.

_Oliver,_

_ I'm not writing this as from one close friend to another. Consider it a peace offering between two people that care deeply about the same person, a person who is in grave danger. I don't expect for you to be happy about this letter, but I'm doing what I think is necessary._

_ Please believe me when I say I'm doing everything within my power to find Clark and bring him home, just as I know you and Chloe are. I don't have to remind you of his importance, but maybe I do have to remind you of what he means to me._

_ I know I left, but that doesn't change anything. I left because the world needs him more, but I wasn't there to protect him when he needed me. I'll never forgive myself if I don't fix that._

_ I've disappeared; I can devote myself to finding Clark, but you need your company, and Chloe needs Isis, as a cover. Let me help with that._

_ Christopher Hawke is honest and loyal. You can trust him. You're going to have to convince Chloe to let him run the foundation for her, but she needs the help. Queen Industries isn't any of my business, but Christopher could be of help to you too, Oliver. If you want it. He's talented and capable, but it's entirely your call. He knows to wait for your lead and won't broach the subject without you expressing interest._

_ Olive, one last thing. Lex is alive. You know how dangerous he is, even more so now with what he knows. He's up to something big. Be careful._

_~Lana Lang_**_  
._**

Oliver turned the page and there were several documents. One of them included information about Lex's direct involvement in dumping the defunct and scandalized Cadmus labs on Queen Industries.

"Did you know about this?" Oliver asked Christopher, holding up the paper.

He nodded.

Oliver folded the papers, put them back in the envelope and stuck it inside his leather jacket.

"This could still be a trick."

"A very elaborate and convincing one," Christopher countered.

"So, do you work for Mercy," Oliver asked, gesturing with his beer bottle, "or just Lex?"

"Ugh," Christopher groaned melodramatically as he rolled his eyes, "I do _not _work for Lex. Would you people stop with that?"

Oliver folded his arms and sighed.

"You know you're still gonna have to convince Chloe..."

Christopher folded his hands a rested his chin on them, an expectant look in his eyes.

"...but," Oliver drawled, "I'll put in a good word for you."

"Thank you," Christopher beamed. "You won't regret this."

"I hope not. But that's it, just Isis for now," Oliver amended, standing and dropping several large bills on the table.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Christopher said, an innocent and confused look on his face, still sitting.

"No, 'taking care of my business' for me. You gotta earn your keep and our trust; then we'll see how it goes."

Christopher maintained the expression a moment longer and then a tug at the corner of his mouth broke it. He chuckled as he stood.

"That's not really helping win my trust there, Christopher."

"She said I wouldn't bring it up unless you did, right?" Christopher smiled. "When you want my help, you've got it. Until then, I'll keep myself busy at Isis. I'm only here to help. You have my word, Mr. Queen."

"Just...Oliver."

"Oliver."

There was that thing again where he seemed to be tasting his words like they were new. Something was both unusual and intriguing about this new comer. Oliver threw his arm around Christopher's shoulder and guided him towards the elevator.

"Come on, kid" he said, "I'll give you a ride home."

* * *

_A/N: thanks for reading. Reviews welcome._

_Chapters FOUR, FIVE, and SIX started out as one chapter so if you want to consider them that way, that's fine. FOURa FOURb FOURc ...whatever  
_


	7. Six

Disclaimer: DC content not mine. Not making $

Spoilers through Season 8. Alternate Universe. Set Post Season 7. Features some Original Characters. No Clark. Lex knows.

Cover Art: http : / /lyxanderblue .deviantart .com/gallery/#/d38wuyl

* * *

**SOMEONE TO BELIEVE IN**

"_You hold the future of the entire planet in your hands; I'm here to take it back. I loved you like a brother, Clark, but it has to end this way."_

_- Lex Luthor, on the day Clark Kent died._

* * *

**SIX**

* * *

.

**LUTHOR MANSION**

.**  
**

Morning sun glinted through the stain glass windows of the Luthor mansion. Bathed in the light, Tess sat in the ergonomic chair behind the desk once used by Lex for so many years; she had taken up residence there months earlier at his behest. She was poised with her legs crossed at the knee and her chin rest on her fist. She held a leather-bound book, worn and full of hand written entries, and was completely engrossed in it. Dressed smartly in a navy pencil skirt and an ivory, silk blouse, her ruddy curls billowed loosely around her.

There was a knock and then the heavy, wooden double-doors creaked open. Eva Greer, Kat's replacement as her executive assistant, entered. She stood silent and waited for Tess to look up. Tess liked that about her. She was less forward and impudent than her predecessor.

Tess looked up.

"Ms. Mercer?" Eva said, "Your ten o'clock is here. A Dr. Edward Groll."

Tess went back to her book and nodded.

She heard Groll enter a few minutes later and approach the desk, his cheap shoes squeaking on the marble floor. She turned a page.

"I was expecting Lex," Groll said when she didn't acknowledge him.

"You're late."

"Smallville isn't exactly on the way...to anywhere. I had to rearrange my entire week for this."

"You must be a busy man," she said patronizingly, turning another page. This wasn't Tess's normal tactics, but she'd had to change up game recently. Respect was becoming scarcer by the minute. "Which is why I wanted you. And why we're paying unconscionable amounts of money."

"Luthor's money."

"Mmm."

"Speaking of Lex...will he be joining us?" Groll asked.

Tess closed her book and set it down gently on the table. She uncrossed her legs, planting them on the floor, and folded her hands on the glass top. "I'm handling Mr. Luthor's affairs now. And I'm the one who hired you," Tess replied firmly, focusing on him squarely.

"And what can I do for you?" he asked, his haughtiness diminishing.

"You've worked with Lex before. You're privy to some of his more fanciful pursuits and you've stayed in his sphere for last few years. What do you know about a legend he was investigating, relics that would point the way to a storehouse of knowledge?"

Groll crossed his arms and shook his head.

"Oh now, don't be coy. You work for me, and I work for Lex. We're all in the know here."

"Of course we are," he said tersely and regarded her, no doubt weighing his options. He sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. "Three stones of power that when combined create a storehouse of knowledge that would put the Library of Alexandria to shame."

"I think I've read that somewhere before," she said patting the leather-bound journal.

"It's all nonsense. Legends and myths. Just like those caves. The Katwatche Indian folktales. It's all nonsense. The Luthors were obsessed with this stuff and you know what happened to them; you'd be wise to avoid it."

"Lex Luthor is alive and well. And he doesn't waste his time with frivolities, Doctor. You'd do well to remember both." Tess shot back stormily.

Groll cleared his throat.

She slid a box across the table and pulled back the lid. Inside was the diamond-esque crystal, its illumination seeping out.

"Oh."

"You mind clearing your schedule now?"

Groll shook his head.

"You'll work from here and under my supervision. This," Tess told him, "doesn't leave my presence."

"I'll have to gather a few things. Equipment, research, some...uh—"

"I won't waste your time, Doctor," Tess said with a saccharinely false smile, holding up a hand, "by demanding a description of the details."

"Right. Of course, of course."

"Ms. Greer will show you out. Thank you, Doctor."

Tess picked up her book. On cue, the doors opened and Eva appeared.

"Oh...um..." Groll stammered and left.

Tess heard the door close and then reopen.

"Forget something, Doctor?"

Tess started when a newspaper was thrust under her nose and dropped on the desk. Oliver Queen's picture was sprawled across the front along with the words "Bachelor Billionaire Binge." He was seen with a drink in each hand and an unflattering, squinting expression. "Really?"

It was Oliver Queen in flesh; he stood opposite her desk with crossed arms and his billion dollar smile peeking from beneath a bemused an incredulous expression.

"Whatever happened to the party boy hanging up his beer bong so that he could do good for the world?" Tess asked wryly; she was both please and embittered.

"While I am the guy in that picture: I was holding some else's drinks and had a flash go off in my face. But I'm not the guy in that article anymore."

"Of course not," Tess mocked scathingly. "You're Oliver Queen: world famous Samaritan. And I was his first save."

Tess saw Oliver eye the open box and the crystal; she stood as she shut it.

"Excuse me, you um..." Oliver said. His voice changed and he moved into her personal space, taking her arm gently. "You were much more than that."

He stopped and looked at the diamond bracelet on her wrist. It had been a gift from Tess to her friend Megan, but belonged to Tess once more. She knew Oliver recognized it from the day he rescued her on that island so many years ago, the day Megan was murdered.

"Heard Marcos came to town looking for revenge. Showed up in the hospital last night and was dumped in the slammer this morning." Oliver said quietly. "Did he find you?"

_He came looking alright, but I'm not that same helpless girl. _Tess thought for a moment and then shook her head. "You?"

Oliver paused, a look of question dusting his face like a passing shadow; his casual nonchalance returned and he answered. "No."

"I'm glad you're okay, Oliver," Tess told him; the warmth and honesty was the most genuine and vulnerable she'd been in a very long time. She pulled away and went to Lex's collection of fine spirits and poured herself a scotch. "After all, I need the chief of Queen Industries alive and well if LuthorCorp is going to keep its competitive edge."

"Happy to help..." Oliver said sarcastically. He roamed the space for a moment, admiring the grandiose space she had taken up. She watched him carefully. "This is great, a few pay grades up from your days studying jellyfish and protesting whaler ships, huh?"

"You're not the first person to wonder how I ended up at the helm of the Luthor dynasty."

"Well, what's to wonder?" Oliver shot back. "You play to win. I found out how ruthless you were a long time ago."

He was unbelievable. And incorrigible.

"After what you did to me, did you really just expect me to sit around and eat ice cream?"

"No. You'd rather work for my greatest enemy, and then just when I think the knife can't twist any farther, you take up the reigns of his entire company, sitting side by side with the devil himself."

"Ooh, so that's what you do when you're not writing checks and grinning for the camera? You sit around pondering ways that I've dedicated my life to your downfall. I'm sorry to break it you Oliver, but everything I did, I did it for me."

"I bet you did. I bet you just love playing house here at chez Luthor. And just where is dear old Lex? Hmm." Oliver's word had turned sharp and as deriding as her own. "You think once he's back in action he's gonna keep you here at his side, Tess? Laud you and sing your praises for how you kept his company afloat and brought him home? Lex is gonna discard you like old software. You were a stop gap measure, nothing more. He's using you, Tess. Can't you see?"

"You don't know Lex at all, Oliver." Tess refuted in a hushed but piercing tone. "He is a good man. He is a man of integrity who stands for truth and justice."

"You are so transparent," he said simply, shaking his head. "And so naïve. This is not worth it, Tess. Revenge really isn't a good color on you."

"One of the most important things that Lex taught me is that you can't afford to live in the past."

"Did professor Luthor also teach you a thing or two about deception? Or how about obsession. I hear his class on murder is an easy A." Oliver clipped scornfully.

"He's done more for this world than you ever will, Oliver," Tess shot back. "He dedicated his life to making it a safer place."

"You know it seems to me that Lex might have been a little more than a mentor," Oliver whispered with a suggestive raise of the eyebrow.

Tess scowled.

"I wasn't sure before, Tess, but now I know. I guess our past is behind us."

"It has been since the day you said goodbye, Oliver. Oh wait...you never actually did. Did you?"

"Is that why you called me here?" He snapped. "Cause it's on the tip of my tongue."

"No." Tess said less harshly. She was pensive as she picked up a folder. "Whatever your delusions of me—and of Lex—are, is your concern. I called you to give you this. I realize that Lionel Luthor is dead and buried, but maybe this will help you sleep at night."

Tess knew that the documents would undoubtedly upset Oliver, circumstantial as they may be. It was the right thing to do, to give him peace of mind about long unanswered questions. She did have an ulterior motive. Lex's feelings about his father weren't a secret, justified as they may be. Giving them a common enemy might be just what they all needed for civility. Or war. The status quo would not remain. Either way it was going to give Lex the leg up he needed.

* * *

.

**ISIS FOUNDATION**

.

Chloe stood in the front room of the Isis foundation with hand on hip and papers in hand, the late morning light streaming through the windows; her empty coffee cup was perched on the sill. She was reading through several patient files, memorizing details and looking for connections. Why there weren't digital copies, she'd never understand. Nonetheless, her enhancements made it easy to absorb and retain data at startling speeds.

Perhaps she'd invest in a high tech scanner to eliminate the paper trail, she thought, maybe Oliver would make a donation to the foundation. It would certainly increase her efficiency, which would benefit him in the long run. Of course, then Oliver would want to know why trading the hard copies for soft ones would be so useful to her, which would lead to more questions.

Chloe had been able to evade his suspicion thus far about her abilities, but it wouldn't last long. Her overambitious multitasking the night before had shut down the entire Watchtower setup. While the glitch no doubt helped hide her super hacking skills from Oliver, it was completely unacceptable for her to be offline during a mission. She'd requisitioned a vast assortment of new tech to beef up the system—courtesy of Queen Industries—so that something like that wouldn't happen again. She expected the first shipment that afternoon and prayed she had done her due diligence in covering her tracks.

Her too-rapidly firing synapses instant-replayed her evening in perfect clarity.

...

_ The acrid smell of burnt wires and plastic permeated the niche as a popping sparks told Chloe something was awry. Her multi-screen display read "system failure." She didn't have to wonder any longer about the limits of the small but powerful facility Lana had created. The unit of tandem processors was fried, smoking and a little melted. They'd need replacing—and with something more powerful that could withstand the punishment she dealt out with every growing dexterous speed._

_ Chloe sighed in disgust and acquiesced to taking the evening off. As she locked the Isis doors, she thought about calling Jimmy, but saw the clock was pushing eleven. After the long drive, weeks of fatigue won out as she dragged into the Talon. Ready to pass out from exhaustion, she was startled by a voice as she was about to ascend the staircase._

_"Good evening, Miss Sullivan." Chloe jerked around in surprise and saw Tess Mercer emerge from shadows. "I am sorry for the cloak-and-dagger routine, but I didn't have time to schedule this little meet and greet. My name is—" _

_ "You can save the introduction," Chloe cut her off tersely, not in the mood to deal. "I know who you are, and I don't care to talk with anyone connected to Lex Luthor."_

_ "It is no secret that you and Lex have your differences. But I'm sure that you are far too fair a person to fault me for his mistakes," Tess said with calm diplomacy. She was both seasoned and skilled. But so was Chloe._

Huh, _she thought and said nothing._

_ "See, I really need your help," Tess Mercer continued. "I know that you have cracked into some of the most complex and protected computer systems in the world. And I'd like to hire you to do the same for me."_

_ "I guess Lex's lackeys didn't tell you that he actually dropped the dime on me for being a techno wiz. I was locked up. It wasn't pretty," Chloe shot back. Whatever Tess's angle was, Chloe wanted nothing to do with it. _

_ "Well, no laws will be broken. You'll be trying to hack a very unique supercomputer."_

_ "Sorry, my plate's full."_

_ "Yeah, I'm so sure _not _planning a wedding and starting up the Isis foundation can keep you pretty busy. Not to mention searching the globe for that missing friend of yours. What's his name? Clark something?"_

_ Chloe's heart skipped a beat. Whatever knowledge Tess had of Clark would be dangerous, and with her working for Lex there was no telling how much she know. "How did you know all of that?" she demanded._

_ "I had unrestricted access to all of Lex's records when he was missing. I did a lot digging when searching for him. And I know everything about you, Chloe. Which is why I know you're the only person that can help me. So, I'm hoping you'll reconsider."_

_ Tess was smug and appeared self-satisfied; it was clear to Chloe she thought she had gotten the upper hand._

_ "You learned well from Lex," Chloe said, matching Tess' quiet, smooth tone bathed in biting hostility. "When you don't get your way, you just threaten. This isn't my first tour of duty on the Luthor battlefield. So you're gonna have to come at me with a lot more firepower."_

_ Tess raised an eyebrow._

_ Chloe turned, finished with the conversation and headed for the stairs, but paused when Tess called to her._

_ "I could help you find Clark."_

_ Chloe's breath caught and then she replied, without looking back, "Stay away from me and my friends."_

_ "What is it about this farm boy that gets everyone so riled up?" Tess wondered aloud, though something told Chloe it was more than just an honest question. "Lex was obsessed with him for years—And Lionel, too. Lana left Lex for him. And you...well, it must be so hard to be _so_ loyal to someone who never reciprocated that kind of...devotion. And from what I understand, you are blindly committed to this guy, you're willing to do anything to protect him. And what is it that a simple Kansas farm boy would need such ardent protection from, I wonder?_

_ "See, I've been trying to understand a few things, and maybe you could clear it up for me. The last person that saw Lex before his disappearance was Clark Kent, and then he magically disappeared too at the same time. Where would he have gone, I wonder? Why? And why would a college drop-out who still lives on his parents' farm be in the midst of so much intrigue? His name pops up in news articles, and police reports, and investigations of all kinds. There's a mystique that surrounds him. And the fact that you and everyone else in his life are always so quick to convince everyone else how normal and innocent he is tells me how far that is from the truth. I believe Lex had good reason to believe there was more than meets the eye to Clark Kent."_

_ "Lex is toxic," Chloe said pointedly. "Everything Lex touches is poisoned. Maybe Clark just wanted to escape Lex's wake of destroyed lives while he still could. You'd be wise to strategically remove yourself while you still have a fighting chance before he crushes you, because, believe me, he will. Wherever Lex is, tell him forget about Clark and leave us all the hell alone."_

_ Chloe, disturbed and unsettled, ended the conversation there and left._

_ She awoke the next morning with an unexpected new vigor and decided to spend the morning and afternoon taking care of some neglected areas of her life. Unfortunately, it seemed life was not as she had left it. Inklings of a plan of breakfast with Lois fizzled when their shared Talon apartment proved empty; her cousin was already gone or never came home— the latter was more likely. As she scrounged for a petit-déjeuner of burnt toast and coffee, it struck her that the Talon apartment wasn't really feeling like home anymore. She thought about turning some of the spare rooms at Isis into an apartment._

_ Chloe's morning commute turned into a drive down memory lane. As she drove past by her old house, where another family now lived, she thought about stopping but it proved to be too unsettling for anything more than a quick tap of the brakes. She somehow found her way out to the Kent farm, desolate and run down. It was eerie and her heart hurt as she wondered where Clark was and how full of love and life the little house once was. _

_ Chloe had a key, like so many others, but she didn't go inside. It didn't feel right somehow. It was an arduous hike for her up the stairs of the barn into Clark's first fortress of solitude. Memories threatened to overwhelm her as she stood frozen in the center of the quaint, homey space, quiet tears running down her cheeks._

_ The stairs creaked._

_ "Clark?" she called, spinning on her heel._

_ There was nothing. She ran to the banister and saw Shelby—the Kent's dog—playing with a bone. Chloe sighed and went to the golden retriever, petting his head._

_ "Hey, boy. I thought Lois was coming to pick you up?"_

_ Chloe loaded up the dog into her car and decided she would drop him off at the Planet for Lois. It seemed appropriate given her cousin had completely neglected a dog she was supposedly so fond of._

_ As Chloe came to the intersection of the country highways—one leading to Metropolis, the other out to the Luthor Mansion—Chloe saw the flash of an orange and green sports car. The license plate told her it definitely belonged to Oliver, though he was driving so fast, she was sure he didn't see her. She was also sure of his destination, given there wasn't much else out that way, but wondered what business he had with Tess Mercer._

_ The more she thought about that, the more it bothered her, and the long ride in gave her highly efficient neurons lots of time to process. With her PDA poised on the steering wheel, she researched as she drove. She felt safe surfing while driving, given her enhanced multi-tasking skills. The Tess Mercer thing was eating at her. _

What did she want? What did Oliver want with her?

_ Chloe had the not so pleasant distinction of meeting Lois's new partner when she dropped by the Planet to hand off Shelby. Vanderbilt was as brazen and mouthy as her off-chasing-a-lead-cousin. A few offhanded comments told Chloe that there had been talk and she had been the subject. Chloe left quickly and found herself in a park with Shelby. _

_ It was the first time she had allowed herself to be still in a long time. Still was relative. While watching Shelby run and play, Chloe's mind was a veritable super-processor. She was cross-referencing previously absorbed data at an astounding speed, coming up with new theories, and eliminating old leads. It was barely an effort, almost involuntary. Like breathing. _

_Meanwhile, at the forefront of her mind were her worries about Jimmy, and Clark, and Lana, and this Christopher Hawke and her ragged ragtag team of heroes. And Davis. Apparently, 'forefront of her mind' had taken on a new, multifaceted meaning. She worried a little more about what that meant. Something was happening and it was accelerating._

...

Chloe surprised herself. Again. She had all but relived the past sixteen hours while tackling a day's worth of Isis paperwork in a matter of an hour. She sighed as she filed the papers and closed the cabinets.

Chloe didn't mind caretaking for Lana; it was a much needed filler since she'd lost her job at the Planet. Really, though, Isis was little more than a cover for her to devote her every waking moment to finding Clark and foiling Lex. While she had had every intention of getting the clinic up and running again, it simply hadn't happened.

There was a knock at the door.

_What in the...No one knocks anymore. Everyone just barges in here uninvited._

Dually annoyed and curious, Chloe cautiously open the door. It swung open unexpectedly, pushing her aside. A uniformed man pushing a loaded up handcart shoved in followed by two more. Christopher Hawke brought up the rear.

"Those go over there in that back room," Christopher order, pointing towards the Watchtower setup. Chloe was glad the doors were shut. "These and these go out here. _And_...I'll take this one."

Christopher grabbed a box off the top and held it in both arms, smiling at Chloe.

"What are you doing here?"

"Didn't Oliver Queen speak to you about me?" Christopher asked, a shadow of confusion brushing over his face.

"He may have mentioned something in a text briefly," Chloe shrugged, not budging.

She wondered what exactly Oliver had told Christopher and she wondered what else Oliver hadn't told her. First Tess, now this.

"And?"

"_And_...he told me to trust you. To let you do what you came to do. Doesn't mean I'm gonna. Oliver Queen doesn't own Isis."

Christopher paused as the delivery men finished. He shifted the box, retrieved some cash and tipped each one generously.

"Thanks guys," he said as they left. Then to Chloe, "What's gonna take, huh? You need me."

Chloe raised her eyebrows at him defiantly, unconvinced. He rolled his eyes and scoffed.

He set the box down on the reception desk and then turned around, crossing his arms, and regarded her.

"I've got a busy week planned that hinges on this afternoon, so can we just skip all the rook to queen bishop four and get on with it?"

"There's the door," Chloe said simply, her hand flourishing towards the exit.

Christopher didn't move. They eyed one another carefully, not speaking, daring the other to call a bluff. Finally, Christopher reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved an envelope. He handed it to Chloe.

"The Lana-letter, huh?" Chloe asked, pursing her lips and barely glancing at it. "Is that your Queen's Gambit or your Troitzky line?"

The young, mysterious newcomer didn't answer; only smiled. He wasn't arrogant, so his level of self-assuredness made her believe that he could be telling the truth. She'd also met some very good liars in her lifetime. The letter was the part of her brief conversation with Oliver that had intrigued her the most. The handwriting on the cover was undoubtedly Lana's and it even smelled like her. Chloe still wasn't completely convinced, even if she was a little swayed.

"This doesn't prove anything," Chloe told him.

"I mean, we could just call Ms. Lang and clear this whole thing up. But, Chloe, I'm guessing you're familiar with how difficult it can be to get in touch with her lately."

"Extremely familiar," Chloe admitted. She mulled over his story, trying to punch holes in it. She stalled while she thought by asking, "So, what's with the _Ms. Lang? _Is that her new M.O with all her hired boys? Wouldn't she prefer you call me Ms. Sullivan?"

"Well, I don't work for you."

Chloe laughed despite the sudden tension in their tête-à-tête.

"Anyway, why didn't you just use Watchtower to look me up? Surely, that would have told you everything you needed to know."

Chloe jaw dropped slightly; she was more amused than worried or surprised, even if it caught her off guard.

_So, he's on the level. Or he's been well groomed; keep your enemies closer..._

"Look, Chloe," Christopher said, his demeanor softening. "I'm not really one for the verbal sparring matches, but I do it when necessary. Believe me, I do understand how important it is for you to glean truth from deception. I'm on your side. I don't work for Luthor. I don't work for Mercer. I don't work for the DDS. I'm one of the good guys. I'm here to handle things while you focus on...more urgent matters." He paused and looked her square in the eye, his words heavy with meaning. "Nothing is more important to Ms. Lang than what you're working on. Nothing."

"Clark." Chloe said softly.

Christopher nodded.

"She's just as committed to finding your friend as you are. She hasn't given up."

Chloe went to the window. Her thoughts dovetailed continuously and she had myriad questions, but she remained silent for some time. She didn't trust him, but her gut was telling her she could. She supposed if he was a mole, it would be best to find out his game rather than force his hand.

"Okay," Chloe resigned, "we'll give it shot. At least until I've had a better chance to dig up some better dirt on you."

"I'd expect nothing less," he said, flashing a toothy smile.

"You should know, I don't abide by business hours and I have a severe caffeine addiction. Bystanders beware."

"Well, then we have two more things in common," Christopher said, "Don't worry, I've got this covered. You do you your thing; I'll do mine. Ms. Lang thinks having Isis up and running with a functional public face is paramount for...our more..._covert _operations."

Chloe whole-heartedly agreed with the logic. She shook her head at him, her earrings tinkling, and smiled despite herself.

"Alright," Chloe said gesturing at their surroundings. "You win...for now. You've passed your first round of interviews, but don't think you're getting off easy, bucko. I may not be a reporter at a world renowned paper anymore, but my journalistic instinct is intact. There are still questions to be answered."

"Fair enough."

"She's all yours; try not burn the place down on your first day. I've got errands to run."

He grinned again and offered his hand once more. She took it this time.

Chloe went to a back room, one she was seriously considering converting to an apartment, and retrieved Shelby. He happily greeted her and followed her out, barely fighting the leash. Until he saw Christopher.

"Hey there, fella," the newcomer said excitedly, bending down to pet Shelby. "Aren't you gorgeous? Yes, good dog."

If Shelby trusted him, maybe Chloe could too.

"He's Clark's," Chloe stated plainly. Christopher nodded, standing up. He gave her a warm smile and went back to work. She left him to work. She paused at the door, and looked back at him. He was busily and cheerfully rummaging through his boxes; he was cute, like watching a little kid, and she liked him despite herself and her reservations.

"How do you take your coffee?" Chloe called to him.

"Black. Four sugars," he called back without looking up. She could see the barely concealed pleased look of accomplishment, and she appreciated that he didn't make a big deal about winning her over. What he didn't know, she reminded herself, is that he hadn't. Not yet. If Christopher was hiding something, he'd be more likely to slip if he felt comfortable around her. She'd let the facts decide for her.

"Four?" she asked with a bit of playful disdain, "Slip into a diabetic sugar comma much?"

"Not as long as I keep the intake steadily streaming in," he said without skipping a beat. "You'd better hurry back. I can already feel my insulin levels fluctuating."

_At least the banter will be halfway decent, _she mused. Intelligent conversations were becoming harder and harder to come by with her increasing IQ.

"Try not to die while I'm gone. I'd hate to have a dead body on my hands. They're so much trouble to clean up."

"Ah, that's sweet," Christopher cooed mockingly. "You're already getting attached."

Chloe rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her without responding. She put her phone to her ear as she entered the elevator.

"Hey, Lo. I have your dog, so I'm calling in a favor. I need the low down on a Christopher Hawke."

* * *

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**LATER THAT NIGHT: OLIVERs LOFT, QUEEN TOWER**

.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew Tess Mercer?"

Chloe stood in what passed for a doorway in the open floor plan of Oliver's loft. Except for the unnatural, electric backlighting that seeped from behind bookcases and tiny, modern artsy fixtures, only the moonlight streaming through tall penthouse windows illuminated the elevation behind Oliver's office. Her features washed in the pale light, Chloe's glower was hardly concealed as she hoisted her purse up on her shoulder and strutted a few more feet into the room, which was rife with the stench of alcohol.

Oliver's prone shirtless form was sunk deep the wrong way into a wide leather arm chair that had been haphazardly shoved up against a metal banister. Empty—or mostly empty—bottles were strewn about and a large, square glass bottle was nested in the crook of his arm and under his chin. His eyes snapped open at her words; his cheeks were flushed an unhealthy red and he blinked in bewilderment. He jerked up in the chair as coherence made a partial appearance.

"Chloe," he managed in a hoarse voice. "What're you doing here?"

She repeated herself.

"What no playful banter?" It was dark, but she could tell he was struggling back into his pants that had been lying across the arm of the chair.

She repeated herself a second time.

"Was in the past," Oliver grunted as he arduously hauled himself to his feet. "Wasn't exactly proud of the way things ended."

"You didn't think it was important to mention that you were friendly with the redheaded seat-warmer of the Luthor throne?"

"I didn't realize my love-life was any of your business, _Chlo_," Oliver spat, his tone biting on her name. "I think you have enough of your own problems in that department without worrying about mine."

"Lex knows Clark's secret, Oliver," Chloe stated coolly, side-stepping his jibe. "When Lady Luthor literally shows up on my doorstep wanting the inside scoop on our missing farmboy and then you start making house calls the next morning, it is my business."

"Looks like your round-the-clock lock-in as Watchtower has made you quite the voyeur." Chloe crossed her arms and let out a breath, mostly unfazed by him.

"Lois left out the part where the party boy turns into the drunk with a mean streak. I'm gonna let you sober up before you burn through all your social collateral." Chloe told him, finished with the conversation, and turned to leave. "The troops are rallying in the morning. I don't know what this is, Oliver—"

"Lionel Luthor killed my parents," Oliver spat, spinning on his heel and thrusting a file into her face.

"You got that from some flight records," Chloe stated with a hint of one part disdain one part incredulity once she'd glanced through the papers.

"According to that there were LuthorCorp employees on the maintenance log," he informed her. "Clark was the son Lionel never had. The guy knew everything about him. So don't just stand there and tell me you and Clark didn't know a few of his dirty little secrets."

Chloe was silent for a moment. She had been privy to this information, but not for very long. She'd have to tread carefully. Oliver was upset, understandably, and volatile unstable given the amount of alcohol he'd ingested. She try not to implicate herself just yet.

"Maybe he was afraid you'd do something you'd regret," Chloe said quietly.

"Something I'd regret?" Oliver exclaimed, "Like what, Clark?...Chloe."

She raised an eyebrow at his slurred correction.

"You thought I was gonna kill him? Is that it? I wouldn'ta done that, Chloe. I wouldn'ta killed him. I survived on an island for two years by myself, Chloe. When it wasn't pouring rain, it was blistering sun. There were mosquitos that ate me alive.

"'S'okay. Cause you know what? It made me strong. Clark thought he was invincible...and so did we. I think we were wrong, Chloe. But you know what Clark wasn't? Fearless. He was afraid to trust his friends, to trust me. And he was always afraid to face who he was really meant to be. He was afraid of everything! Maybe he just hadn't been put to the test yet like I have. Maybe this is his island."

Chloe crossed her arms and regarded him carefully.

"Ya done?"

Oliver shrugged, deflated, and rolled his eyes taking another drink.

"So, how long you been waiting to give that little speech of yours to Clark?"

Oliver pushed past her back into the loft.

"You don't know what you're talking about Chloe."

"Oh, come on, Ollie. What happened to your parents was a terrible thing, but let's not pretend that's what this is about. I think the real question is 'how long has your true secret identity been the Green-Eyed Monster?'"

"You think I'm jealous of Clark? You're one to talk. When it comes to envy, Chloe. You wrote the book."

"You've done enough projecting, reflecting, and deflecting for one night, Oliver. Why don't we just shoot straight, Arrow?" Chloe countered. "You've been jealous of Clark's abilities from day one. You never thought he was living up to his full potential. And it doesn't take a gumshoe sleuth to pick up on the not-so-subtle hints you been dropping about how differently you'd do things if you were the one packing super skills. Not to mention the constant inferiority complex you've been toting around because we haven't found him yet."

Oliver grinned mirthlessly, biting back words. He looked ready to deliver another smarmy barb, but then fire went out of his eyes. He shrugged, emptied his drink, and plopped back into the chair.

"You can wallow up here in your ivory tower and drink yourself into early liver failure, but I'm going to find my friend—with or without your help."

* * *

**.**

**STREETS Of METROPOLIS**

.

Marcos, a sour look on his face and his shoulder in a sling, climbed into the back of a cab.

"Take me to the airport."

A deep, painful scratch suddenly appeared on his hand.

"What the hell?" He exclaimed gruffly.

The face of Tess Mercer appeared in his window. She leaned in, sneering ominously.

"Who do you think paid your bail?" she whispered venomously.

Marcos blinked and swayed, his equilibrium failing; his head dipped and then he dropped into the floor of the cab, unconscious.

"I think he's having a heart attack," Tess informed the cab driver passively. "You might wanna take him to the hospital."

"What am I? An ambulance?"

"They'll know what to do with him."

As the cab drove away, an exotic pink flower dropped from Tess's hand. It landed on the gritty asphalt and was run over by a passing car. A silver Porsche Cayenne with the license plate "NO MERCY" sped away into the night.  
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* * *

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_A\N Sorry it's been so long since I last posted. Hope you enjoy and hope to post again soon._  
_Thanks for reading. Reviews welcome._

_Chapters FOUR, FIVE, and SIX started out as one chapter so if you want to consider them that way, that's fine. FOURa FOURb FOURc ...whatever_


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